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FEATHERS 
LEFT AROUND 


CAROLYN WELLS’ 

Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone , 
the great American Detective , displays his re¬ 
markable ingenuity for unravelling mysteries 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

THE MYSTERY GIRL 

THE MYSTERY OF THE 
SYCAMORE 

RASPBERRY JAM 

THE DIAMOND PIN 

VICKY VAN 

THE MARK OF CAIN 

THE CURVED BLADES 

THE WHITE ALLEY 

ANYBODY BUT ANNE 

THE MAXWELL MYSTERY 

A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE 

THE CLUE 

THE GOLD BAG 

PTOMAINE STREET 

A Rollicking Parody on a Famous Book. 





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V 


FEATHERS 
LEFT AROUND 


BY 


CAROLYN WELLS 

Author of “Vicky Van” “The Mystery Girl” etc. 



PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1923 





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COPYRIGHT, 1922- BY STREET AND SMITH CORPORATION 
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 



©Cl A698513 



PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS 
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A. 


MAR-6’23 


A- * -V" 


TO MY DEAR FRIEND 

ADALA WILSON 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER p AGE 

I. Little Anna. 9 

II. A Celebrated Guest. 28 

III. The Tragedy. 46 

IV. The Meredith Story . 65 

V. Roly Takes the Lead. 84 

VI. What Tessie Saw. 103 

VII. The Sister Arrives. 121 

VIII. Little Anna's Wiles. 140 

IX. Pauline's Grief. 160 

X. Curran’s Watch . 179 

XI. Pauline’s Flight. 198 

XII. With Mary Malden .217 

XIII. How Loft Took It .236 

XIV. Fibsy Meets A Countess .255 

XV. The Needle Again .274 

XVI. Curran’s Cruelty. 293 

XVII. On To Mapledale . 312 

XVIII. The Truth At Last.331 


























FEATHERS LEFT 
AROUND 

CHAPTER I 

LITTLE ANNA 

Knox flung his book across the veranda. 

“ Another of those old Sealed Room plots,” he 
complained, as his host, Valentine Loft looked up, 
mildly inquiring. 

“ Man dead in an inaccessible room,” Knox went 
on, “ doors and windows all locked, no weapon to be 
found; murder or suicide ?—and how was it done— 
if any? ” 

“ The sort I like best,” and Loft looked inter¬ 
ested. “ I eat up Detective Stories, and I like better 
the How Was It Done? or the Who Did It? kind 
better than the Why? ” 

“ You’re dead wrong. The real interest of a 
murder story lies in the motive. That’s the thing.” 

“ Nope. It’s the cleverness of the detail work. 
The art of the criminal. Now, if I were going to 
commit a murder.” 


9 



10 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Heavens and earth, Val! What are you talk¬ 
ing about? Drop it, any way, and listen to little 
Anna. I’ve thought up a name for this place.” 

“ Number two thousand and six!” Loft groaned. 
“ I pray Heaven may sometime send me a guest who 
does not requite my hospitality by offering me a 
4 name for my place ’!” 

The vivacious little blonde who had just come 
up on the terrace, accompanied by a big, good- 
natured looking man, sat on the arm of Loft’s chair, 
as she insisted on her suggestion. 

“You’ll like this, Val, though. It’s different 
from the Stonywolds and Ferndales that the herd 
invents. It’s Valhalla! There, how’s that? ” 

“ Rotten!” 

“ Not a bit of it,—is it, Ned?” and Anna Knox 
appealed to her husband, whose talk with Loft she 
had interrupted. 

“Pretty good,” he responded; “I believe Val¬ 
halla means the place of departed spirits,—so, in a 
way, it’s appropriate!” 

“If you people stay much longer, mine will be 
entirely departed. But while I’ve a dram left,— 
I can take a hint.” Loft leaned over to touch a 
bell button. 


LITTLE ANNA 


11 


“Oh, Val, listen!” Anna went on. “It’s the 
name,—don’t you see? Valentine,—Val,—Hall,— 
Valhalla!” 

“ I heard you the first time,” and Loft looked 
at her smilingly; “ but, though I recognized the Val 
connection,—I didn’t get the Hall part till you ex¬ 
plained it. Almost like a charade.” 

“ You are the most aggravating tiling!” and Mrs. 
Knox favored him with her best pout. 

Little Anna was one of the few perfect blondes 
Nature ever turned out. She needed no vanity-case, 
her face was like a Greuze pastel. Her shining hair, 
carelessly tucked up, nestled over her ears in loose, 
involuntary rings, not at all a rolled-up mass. 

Dainty of flesh and blood, she was always per¬ 
fectly togged, and to-day, in her white knitted silk 
sport suit, she seemed a morsel that any man might 
greedily devour. 

Ned Knox looked at her adoringly, yet a trifle 
uneasily as she lounged nearer to Valentine Loft. 

“ Come here, Anna,” he said, authoritatively, 
“ come here and sit by me.” 

“ Yes, dear, as soon as I make Val consent to 
my suggestion.” 


n 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


She lightly ran her fingers through the thick 
dark hair of Loft’s restless head. 

“Get out, Anna!” he growled; “ get out! I’ll 
murder you!” 

“ Come over here, Anna,” said Angel Bob 
Baldwin, the man who had arrived with her. 

Baldwin was a giant person of the Viking type, 
and by reason of his calm serenity and frequently 
upturned blue eyes was called Angel. 

“ But I’ve had you all the afternoon,” Anna 
smiled; “I can have Ned all my life,—and I can only 
catch Val in an unoccupied moment, now and then, 
when Pauline doesn’t see me.” 

“Just for that, you’ve got to go,” and with a 
calm push, Loft gently dislodged her from her perch, 
whereupon, nothing dismayed, she went round and 
sat on the other arm of his chair. 

But Anna’s caprices were always smiled upon, 
and Loft offered her a cigarette. 

The veranda gave West, and the disappearing 
sun touched the flowers, the trees and Anna’s golden 
hair with a final blaze of glory. None of the three 
men could keep his eyes off her exquisite face, and 
though seemingly unconscious of this, she saw it, 
exultantly, and her vain little soul fairly lapped it up. 


LITTLE ANNA 


13 


The “place” of Valentine Loft was a small estate 
in Westchester County, more noticeable for its quiet 
taste and comfortable appointments than for gran¬ 
deur. He had guests much of the time, and always 
a group of people over the week-ends. 

Yet, though up to now, a bachelor’s domain, Pet¬ 
ticoat Rule was imminent, for in a few months Loft 
would marry Pauline Fuller, and into her capable 
hands would pass the household reins of government. 

But no gracious chatelaine could improve on the 
kindly courtesy or thoughtful hospitality of Valen¬ 
tine Loft. 

A good-looking chap of thirty-two, he was a man 
of varied interests and vocations. A lawyer first, 
but more or less of a dabbler in Real Estate, an 
architect of no small skill and a general financier. 
But his natural quickness of intellect and his 
achieved efficiency enabled him to have many irons in 
the fire, and keep them all hot. In his offices he 
was a General, commanding, inspiring, conquering. 
In his home, he was a delightful, debonair host, a 
man of the world, the flesh and the devil. 

One of his most endearing traits was a broad, 
sweet tolerance that forgave idiosyncrasies and even 


14 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


defects in others, making allowance for their unfor¬ 
tunate lack of mental or psychical equipment. Yet 
there were a few things he could not condone or 
forgive. On these points he was so positive as to 
seem stubborn. 

One of these was his attitude toward divorce. 
With the assuredness of the inexperienced, he held 
that once married was always married. So far did 
he carry this notion of his, that he rarely made 
friends of divorced people, and preferred not to 
meet them. 

Some had jestingly told him that after his own 
marriage he might change his mind, but his cold 
reception of these pleasantries forbade their repe¬ 
tition. 

His love for Pauline Fuller was the love of his 
life,—in it he had already put his whole soul, and 
Loft’s was not a fickle nature. 

Another fad of his was the value of inaction. 
He deplored waste motion, and held that far more 
was lost by effort than by restraint. A favorite max¬ 
im was: “ Do nothing and all things will be done.” 

This he had picked up in a book somewhere, and 
frequently quoted it. Though such a code might be 


LITTLE ANNA 15 

dangerous to a less executive brain, to Loft it was 
wise counsel. 

And seemingly, his plan worked. He seemed, 
indeed, to do nothing and yet, in his domain all things 
were done. His household mechanism was of the 
most smooth-running variety, and no incoming bride 
could hope to improve on it,—the most she might 
hope would be to keep it up to its present standards. 

With his calm foresight, Loft felt sure that 
Pauline would do this, or if she didn’t, she could be 
taught to. 

And now Pauline was under his roof, spending 
a blissful fortnight, made possible by the chaperon- 
age of little Anna Knox. 

Though a few months younger than Pauline, 
Anna was a matron of three years’ standing, and 
so, thoroughly equipped for the office of chaperon. 
To be sure, Mrs. Ned Knox had her own notions of 
these duties, but her presence gave the conventional 
sanction to Pauline’s visit. 

Pauline, tall, dark, beautiful, came out from the 
house, pausing a moment in the doorway to lift her 
straight, heavy black eyebrows at Anna’s position. 

“You! ” she exclaimed, “ you grasping cormor- 


16 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


ant! You have all the men in the world, and yet you 
must needs reach out after my one little ewe lamb! 
You go and read your prayer-book where it says, 
‘ Keep my hands from picking and stealing ’! ” 

“ I wasn’t hurting your lammie,” and Anna rose 
slowly from Loft’s chair arm, and went over to sit 
beside her husband. “ Was I, Val?” 

“ I didn’t know you were there,” Loft returned, 
looking surprisedly at her, as he rose to arrange a 
seat for Pauline, and Anna made a face at him. 

Tea was brought then, with other cups even more 
cheering, and as the shadows lengthened across the 
lawn and dusk began to fall, conversation lagged and 
there were frequent silences. 

“ I’m asked down to Wyngate for the week-end,” 
Baldwin said. 

“You can’t go, Angel,” Loft told him quickly. 
“ I’ve more guests coming, and you must help bore 
them to death.” 

“ But they asked me, and they said they were 
going to have a lot of interesting people there.” 

“ Contradiction of terms. Interesting people 
don’t come in lots. The other sort do.” 

“ Why, Val, how you do make on! ” cried Anna. 


LITTLE ANNA 


17 


“ Haven’t we a group of interesting people right 
here now?” 

“ No; Pauline is the only interesting one, and I 
wouldn’t except her only she’s my fiancee, and it 
seems as if I ought to.” 

“ What a bear you are,” and Pauline glanced at 
him amusedly. She was taller and more slender than 
most girls, and possessed of a lithe grace that made 
one want to watch her every motion. Her coloring 
was very black and very white, save where a slight 
touch of rouge showed on either cheek. Her dark 
eyes were almost sad in repose, but brightened to 
shining light when she became animated. Her smile 
was fleeting and adorable, and the look she gave 
Loft was enough to turn any man’s head. 

“ I’m awfully alone,” complained Angel Bob. 
“ Here’s Pauline making eyes at Val, while he wrig¬ 
gles with delight. Here’s my little flirt Anna, gone 
back to her husband, and I’ve nobody to play with.” 

“ Well you can’t run off for the week-end,” Val 
repeated. “ I’ll import one or two pretty girls for 
you to flirt with, and I’ll allow Pauline and Anna 
to give you a daily dozen of their witching smiles 

and glances.” 

2 


18 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Oh, Lord, don’t overdo it!” and Baldwin flung 
up his hands. 

“ Pauline,” Anna said, “ what do you think these 
men were talking about when Bob and I came sud¬ 
denly upon them a few moments ago? Just as we 
reached them, Val was saying, * Now, when I com¬ 
mit my murder—’ ” 

“ Hold hard, there, Anna,” Loft said; “ I didn’t 
put it quite like that. You see I’ve not yet fully 
decided to do one. As a matter of fact, I was saying, 
if I were going to commit a murder—” 

“Well, what’s the difference? They’re both in 
the future tense.” 

“ Finish your sentence, Val,” observed Pauline. 
“ It sounds interesting.” 

“ You see, Ned and I were discussing Detective 
Stories. We’re both fond of them.” 

“ I thought nobody read them,” interrupted Bob, 
“ except English Premiers and American Presidents. 
I assumed they were rather highbrow stuff.” 

“ Anything Bob says is funny,” said Anna, and 
as he smirked complacently, she went on, “ because 
he’s so funny looking.” 

Whereupon Baldwin really did look funny. 

“ Go on, Val,” commanded Pauline. 


LITTLE ANNA 


19 


“ Well, I’m always interested in the plans of the 
murderer. If I were one, I’d lay my plans and go 
about my work in such a careful and clever way, that 
the crime could never be brought home to me. It 
could never be discovered who did it.” 

“ Then there wouldn’t be any Detective Story,” 
declared Mrs. Knox. “ Moreover, Val, you couldn’t 
do that,—it would be impossible.” 

“ On the contrary it would be dead easy,” con¬ 
tended Baldwin. “ Why, I couldn’t kill anybody 
because I’m too soft-hearted, but if I did, I’d easily 
arrange it so it would be an insoluble mystery.” 

“ It isn’t as easy as all that,” Loft said, slowly; 
“ it’s possible, but difficult. You see, you have to 
guard against so many contingencies. And detec¬ 
tives are sharp chaps.” 

“ In fiction,” said Bob. 

“ In real life, too. Even if they don’t do the 
Sherlock act, they very often bring home the bacon. 
Anyway, that would have to be reckoned with.” 

“ What method is most approved this year?” 
Pauline asked, composedly. 

“ Strangling,” said Bob, promptly. “ Strang¬ 
ling is neat, clean and cool. Needs no weapon, 


20 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


leaves no mark. Try our strangulation method, you 
will never use any other!” 

“ That’s all very well for you, with muscles like 
pile-drivers and hands like clam-rakes!” Knox 
looked at his own small and neatly cared-for hands. 

He was a trifle undersized, but agile and athletic. 
In inverse proportion to his size his egotism was 
supreme, and he was opinionated and a bit cocky. 
His imagination was unlimited, and to its fullest 
scope he invented short stories which sold to the best 
magazines at the best prices. 

“ And yet, Bob,” he went on, “ I’d think your 
poetic soul would balk at strangling. It’s not really 
artistic, you know.” 

“What is?” asked Anna. 

“ Shooting. That’s a gentleman’s method. 
Shoot your man,—quick,—ping!—all over.” 

“ But the weapon?” said Loft, “ how conceal it?” 

“ There’s where your cleverness gets in its fine 
work. I could do it. I could either cause the wea¬ 
pon to disappear,—or, with it, fasten the crime on 
another—oh, no, that way wouldn’t do,—they’d see 
through that,—well, then suppose—” 

Knox’s voice drifted to incoherent mutterings. 


LITTLE ANNA 


21 


He was thinking up and rejecting one plan after 
another so rapidly that language could not keep pace 
with his inventive mind. 

“ He's off," said Loft, smiling. “ He's in the 
throes of composition. But he’s wrong, and so are 
you, Bob, Stabbing is the only thing. Then, you 
see,—" 

“ Oh, yes, I know," Bob growled. “ Pick up the 
paper-cutter from the library table,—Florentine dag¬ 
ger sort of thing,—jab it in and leave it in the 
wound. Handkerchief wrapped round hand,—no 
fingerprints on aforesaid dagger. Butler down at 
seven A.M. Gives alarm—I always said, Val, you 
had no imagination. That's the most hackneyed 
plot of all." 

“ Needn’t use paper cutter if you don’t want to," 
said Loft, imperturbably. “Take dagger along, if 
you like. Or use jack-knife,—or carver,—or long 
clipping-shears." 

“ That's new," conceded Bob. “ Clipping- 
shears are not hackneyed. Would you use 'em 
open or shut? " 

“ An open and shut case," said Knox, coming out 
of his reverie, but no one noticed him. 


n 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ You’ve omitted the best way of all,” said Paul¬ 
ine, her slow smile and whimsical glance robbing her 
speech of horror. “ That’s poison.” 

“ Too hard to procure,” Knox said, thoughtfully. 
“ Dramatic, in a way,—but not facile of achieve¬ 
ment.” 

“Oh, stop this talk,” and Anna shuddered. 
“ You give me the willies!” 

“ Now, Anna, be reasonable,” Bob admonished 
her. “To our class of mentality,—and you said, 
yourself we were all interesting people,— no subject 
is taboo. Beside, you must be interested in these 
themes. It’s being done. Detective Fiction is no 
longer read solely by statesmen and College Pro¬ 
fessors. The movement has invaded the stage. 
Only sleuth plays are bought nowadays by our best 
managers.” 

“ Don’t talk more than you want to, Angel,” 
Pauline said, kindly. “ I’ll relieve you for a while. 
Why, yes, Ned, one can get poison easily enough.” 

“ But how? Its sale is prohibited—” 

“ But no prohibition ever really prohibited any¬ 
thing. It only makes it more difficult to come by—” 

“ And therefore, more attractive,” suggested 
Loft. “ I’m not surprised, though, Pauline, at your 


LITTLE ANNA 


23 


choice of method, for poison is preeminently a 
woman’s way. You girls couldn’t manage a shoot- 
ing or a stabbing, nor, unless you’ve gone in strong 
for athletics, could you pull off a successful strangle, 
—but poison, now, ah, there you have it.” 

“ There you don’t have it,” cut in Bob. “ Not¬ 
withstanding Pauline’s jaunty assurance, I’ll bet no 
one of us interesting people here would know how 
to go about getting enough poison to kill a baby!” 

“ Oh, you have to know the chemist, I suppose, 
or have a club chum who knows him,” Loft said; 
“ of course, if I wanted poison I’d get it,—beyond all 
manner of doubt. But it implies premeditation and 
preparation and a certain intimacy with one’s victim, 
and then there’s always the vial to be disposed of.” 

“ It might be a powder,” said Pauline. 

“You could eat the paper, if necessary,” added 
Bob. “ The vial of course you couldn’t.” 

“More and better authors than ever are writing 
detective stories, aren’t they? ” Knox said. “ I be¬ 
lieve I’ll try one.” 

“ Short or long? ” 

“ Have to be short,— Never write books. I 
say, that Curran chap is doing some corkers.” 


24 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Hugh Curran? Indeed he is! I’ve just read 
his ‘ Brick Walls * and ‘ Mystery of the Monastery/ 
and they’re all a first rate Detective story ought to 
be.” Bob spoke enthusiastically. “ By Jove, I’d 
like to know that fellow.” 

“If you’ll be a good boy and stay here this week¬ 
end, I’ll invite him over,” said Loft, smiling. 

“ Do you know him ? ” cried Anna. “ Oh, do ask 
him! I never met a real author! Husbands don’t 
count,” and she flung a merry smile at Ned. 
“ What’s he like, Valentine? ” 

“ I’ve only met him once,—at the Sports Club. 
But he seemed all there, and he’s a friend of the 
Gedneys and the Bowles’ so he must be righto. By 
the way, Angel, he’s a book collector of great wealth, 
so you can put a few over on him. Rich book collec¬ 
tors never know anything.” 

“ Don’t they? ” and Baldwin smiled. 

Though not a regular book dealer, Angel Bob was 
a connoisseur, and negotiated personal orders for 
exceedingly rare and very expensive works. He had 
bought and sold more than one Folio Shakespeare and 
Gutenberg Fragment to his own advantage as well 
as that of his satisfied clients. 


LITTLE ANNA 


25 


Imaginative, visionary, vague in many ways, 
Baldwin was of accurate and sure knowledge where 
Rares and Antiques were concerned. He loved the 
old books; the print, the paper, the bindings, all were 
of intense interest to him. He had bought several 
choice specimens for Loft, at attractive prices, and he 
had even sold a few things to Hugh Curran himself. 

Not under his own name. As a matter of busi¬ 
ness policy, Angel Bob thought it no harm to use the 
fictitious firm name of Baldwin and Co. 

But this was an open secret, and his friends often 
chaffed the Angel on his Trade. At which he good- 
naturedly smiled and continued his still hunt for spec¬ 
ial finds which he could buy for a song and sell for 
a chorus. 

“Tell us about him,—what’s he like?” begged 
Anna. 

“ I didn’t notice him much,—it was a fortnight 
ago, before I’d read any of his books. It was at 
luncheon, and all I remember is that he salted every 
dish before he even tasted it.” 

“Poor compliment to the cook,” said Pauline; 
“ he might at least taste first, and give her the benefit 
of the doubt” 


26 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ No,” Knox objected, “ you don’t see it right, 
Pauly. I’m sure he requires more salt than the aver¬ 
age man, so he puts it in first. That, to my mind, is 
more polite than to taste, and then add salt. That 
seems a reproof. The first is merely a precaution, 
knowing his own idiosyncrasy.” 

“ Oh, Ned! You and your psycho-analysis!” 

“ That isn’t psych anything. It’s imagination. 
Well, when we get Curran here we can ask him all 
about the best and cheapest modes of murder. By 
the way, I’ve heard that Curran isn’t his real name. 
What is, Valentine? ” 

“ I don’t know. I think I was told, too, but I’ve 
forgotten. Everybody calls him Curran or Hugh.” 

“ He hasn’t been writing but a few years,— 
strange his pseudonym sticks to him so.” 

“ He was a movie actor for a couple of years 
previous, I believe. He used the name of Hugh 
Curran there, too.” 

“ I suppose few movie actors use their real names. 
What does he look like ? ” 

“ Oh, tall, dark, holler-eyed, cadaverous, lantern- 
jawed,—” 

“ I know what Val means!” giggled Anna, “he 
means he’s tired of the subject!” 


LITTLE ANNA 


27 


“ Not quite that,” Loft denied, “ but I don’t 
remember how he looked,—so I made him up. 
You’ll see him in a few days,—can’t you wait? ” 

“ I can,” Pauline said, quietly, “ but I don’t see, 
dear, why you want a moving picture actor here.” 

“ Oh, he isn’t that any more. He’s now a prom¬ 
inent novelist and a popular author. Quite different, 
I assure you!” 

“ I’ll ask him to teach Neddie to write stories,” 
Anna declared, and returned her husband’s scowl by 
a friendly kiss. 


CHAPTER II 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 

Valentine Loft was of most courteous even 
genial demeanor, but he also had an air of dictator¬ 
ship about him that somehow made any request of 
his seem a command. And this with no loss of cour¬ 
tesy or geniality, but rather with a potency that made 
his hearer eager to accede to his wishes. 

The charm of Loft’s personality was a variable 
factor. When he chose to exercise it, few could 
withstand its lure, but when he elected to be aloof 
or indifferent, he was so unresponsive as to be almost 
repellent. 

It was with his most cordial smile that he said, 
“If you’ll come for the week-end, Mr. Curran, we’ll 
do all we can to entertain you, and I know you’ll 
entertain us.” 

“ That’s fair enough,” and Hugh Curran smiled 
back at him. “ But how do you know what will 
entertain me? ” 

“ Don’t. But we’ve all sorts and conditions of 


28 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


29 


amusements over home, and I’m guessing you’ll be 
able to pick something to fit. Come, anyway.” 

Curran was not much given to accepting invita¬ 
tions to strange houses, for his ventures had not 
always proved satisfactory, but impelled by Valen¬ 
tine’s insistence he considered the question, gazing 
meanwhile at his would-be host. 

Hugh Curran was not at all the lean and lanky 
individual that Loft had jestingly pictured him. On 
the contrary, he was a bit thickset, though active and 
even athletic. His face was round and rosy, some¬ 
what of the type of an English country squire, and 
his gray eyes had a humorous twinkle, though they 
were roving rather than straightforward. 

His hair was sandy and not very abundant. If 
he had been a movie actor he was certainly no film 
hero; his was probably a character part. 

“Many people there?” he asked, casually. 

“ Ten or a dozen. One’s a Countess,—Russian.” 

“ That doesn’t intrigue me. Go on. Anyone 
I know? ” 

“ Stella Lawrence? Psychic, ash-blonde—” 

“Pah! Goon.” 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Jack Meredith—” 

“ Don’t know ’em.” 


30 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Mrs. Ned Knox,—gay little married flirt, 
pretty as a poet’s dream,—Miss Pauline Fuller, my 
fiancee,—and that’s all the women.” 

“ Men?” 

“ Oh, come now,—aren’t you a bit of a fuss? ” 

“ No. Men?” 

“Well, Ned Knox,—chum of mine; Bob Bald¬ 
win, ditto.” 

“ Baldwin, the book dealer? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I’ll come. I’m a collector, and he knows more 
about old books than any one I ever met.” 

“ You know him, then?” 

“ In a booky way. I’d like to talk books with 
him. I’ll come.” 

For once, Valentine Loft had a strange feeling 
of being favored by the visit of a guest. Usually it 
was the other way; but though the experience was 
novel it was not unpleasant. Indeed, he went so 
far as to say, “ Thank you, I’m glad to have you. 
Come over in time for tea,—I’ll send for your 
duffle.” 

The interview had taken place at the Club house, 
and as the two men separated, a man sitting nearby 
turned to Loft with a quizzical look. 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


31 


“ Surprised at you, old top!” he said, smiling. 
“ Didn’t know tuft-hunting was among your sports.” 

“If I choose,” and Loft nodded indifferently. 
“ But I asked him because the girls over at the house 
are crazy to meet him. And, too, he seems an inter¬ 
esting chap.” 

“ Not that; but I know your whims, and Hugh 
Curran is a divorced man.” 

“ He is! I didn’t know that! What’s his real 
name, by the way? ” 

“ Don’t remember,—Dyer or Dwyer, or some¬ 
thing like that. He’s always called Hugh Curran. 
Like O. Henry, you know. Few know his real 
name.” 

“ I don’t care anything about his name, but I 
wish I’d known he was a divorced man. I’ve a pre¬ 
judice—” 

“ I know you have, but it’s a silly one. In this 
day and generation you have to accept divorce as you 
do the universe. You needn’t go in for it yourself, 
but you ought to respect the rights of those who do.” 

Jim Martin looked at Loft seriously. The men 
were good friends, and Martin was one of the few 
who ever presumed to reprove the autocrat. 


32 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“Perhaps Pm morbid on the subject, but I can’t 
bring myself to treat it lightly.” 

“ Don’t treat it at all. Leave it lay. And espe¬ 
cially in Curran’s case. Why worry? He’s an 
author and a celebrity—” 

“ Hardly that.” 

“ Well, his detective stories are mighty popular, 
and that means celebrity nowadays. Anyway, he’s 
important enough to have his personal affairs let 
alone.” 

“All right, I don’t propose to discuss the thing 
with him. I’m sorry I asked him to my house, but 
it’s done now, and can’t be helped. At any rate 
he’s presentable.” 

Loft went home, rather disgusted with himself 
for not having further investigated Curran’s affairs 
before giving him an invitation. But since it couldn’t 
be helped, he dismissed it from his mind. 

“ Is he coming? ” cried Anna from the veranda, 
as Loft appeared. 

“ Yes, tonight,—he’ll stay till Monday. Don’t 
bowl him over completely, Anna.” 

“ Why not? ” and the seraph face looked inno¬ 
cently inquiring. “What’s he look like, Val? ” 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


33 


“ Elderly, stooping, rather rheumatic and with 
long white whiskers.” 

“Nonsense! You told a different story yester¬ 
day.” 

“ And neither is true,” Ned Knox said. “ Wait 
till you see him, Anna. He’s not nearly so good- 
looking as your own legitimate husband.” 

“ Nobody is,” and Little Anna beamed on the man 
who adored her so. “But I suppose he’s a man of 
genius.” 

“ They’re terrors,” observed Angel, from a swing 
in the corner of the porch, where he sat idly looking 
over one of Curran’s books. “ I’ve read Lombroso, 
and a man of genius is the most awful brute on the 
face of the earth.” 

“ Heavenly!” cried Anna, “ I love brutes! But 
why are men of genius ’em? ” 

“ Because their brains hover between achievement 
and insanity. Don’t you know, ‘ Great wits are sure 
to madness near allied, and thin partitions thought 
from sense divide.’ Pope.” 

“You’re in no danger of dementia, then,” and 
Anna smiled kindly on him. “ But all insane people 

aren’t brutes. Some are quite gentle.” 

3 


84 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ What delightful subjects you choose for dis¬ 
cussion,’’ and Pauline came toward them. She 
usually was the last one to arrive as the group gath¬ 
ered for tea. Anna spitefully said it was to create 
a sensation by her appearance, but Pauline had replied 
that she always did that anyway. Whereupon Anna 
had sulked. 

Pauline did, however, always command attention. 
Without effort, she seemed to dominate the rest, 
and though Anna was more beautiful from an artist’s 
standpoint, yet a poet would find greater inspiration 
in Pauline’s dark eyes and sensitive face than in 
Anna’s pink and white Bisque beauty. 

The two girls were not friends, although conven¬ 
tion kept them kindly courteous. They had little in 
common, and were rarely alone together. 

Yet both looked forward to the coming of the 
stranger. Anna, because he would be a new man to 
flirt with and an important one, Pauline because of 
a curiosity to see what he was like. 

The house guests already arrived, flocked to the 
terrace where tea would be served. 

A notable arrival was the Countess Galaski. 

Unpretentious of appearance, the titled Russian 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


35 


was a general favorite. Sharp-tongued and sharp- 
witted, she yet had a superabundant sense of humor, 
and beneath all a kind heart. She jollied the men, 
admonished the women, took always the best of 
everything for herself, and was always happy. 

“ How are you? ” she cried, looking about inclus¬ 
ively, as she stepped through the doorway. “ I am 
here! Angel, the best chair! Valentine, a foot 
cushion! Pauline, you have gone off in your looks! 
Fie, fie! Anna, I will not speak to you,—you are too 
beautiful. Come here, and kiss me.” 

“ Who, me? ” inquired Knox, rushing to her. 

“ Yes, bad man, you! ” she held up her rouged 
cheek for a somewhat crestfallen caress from Knox, 
who had expected rebuff. But the Countess never 
did the expected. 

Then Stella Lawrence trailed in. Stella was the 
sort who always trails in preference to any other 
means of locomotion. Though her skirts did not 
quite touch the ground, there were ends of chiffon, 
floating draperies and a long filmy scarf that trailed 
along the floor behind her. 

Green-eyed, ash-blonde, pale, thin, willowy, she 
paused back of the chair of the rather robust and 


36 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


florid countess, well knowing the value of the contrast. 

“ Get away!” Countess Galaski screamed. “ Get 
away, you and your Burne-Jonesiness! I can’t stand 
the comparison!” 

“ Indeed you can, Countess,” Anna declared, cat¬ 
tily. “ It makes you look awful wholesome and real.” 

“ In for a high old time, ain’t we? ” whispered 
Roly Mears to Pauline. 

This delightful young man was very young and 
very incorrigible. 

He said what he chose, and though, having never 
met a countess before, he was not a bit scared of her, 
it was dawning on him that they might yet become 
cronies. 

“ You behave yourself, Roly,” Pauline returned. 
“ There’s mischief in the air. Anna’s on her high 
horse—” 

“ And Stella’s full of the divil, and if Friend 
Countess puts up a chattering, there’ll be fireworks.” 

“ Hush, here are the Merediths.” 

The Merediths were scarcely worth hushing for, 
being the colorless pair that seem to infest house- 
parties unavoidably. 

Comfortably middle-aged, inconspicuous of dress, 


A CELEBRATED GUEST - 


37 


pleasantly chatty of manner, the two melted into the 
group and were lost to notice. 

And then Hugh Curran came. 

Though nearly everyone present would have 
scorned to admit any awe of the celebrity, yet a slight 
hush fell as the author greeted his host. 

The Countess stared openly. Anna donned her 
coyest smile, and Stella Lawrence fell quickly into 
what she deemed her most fetching pose. 

Roly Mears stopped short in the middle of a 
funny story and even Pauline, who was presiding 
at the table, allowed the cup she was filling to run 
over. 

Graceful and at ease, Hugh Curran moved about 
until he was made acquainted with all, and then look¬ 
ing around a bit deliberately, chose a seat by the 
Countess. 

Roly Mears, cup in hand, joined them. 

“ I say, Mr. Curran,” he began, “I’ve read your 
books,—I think they are fine—” 

“ Roly, you baby,” the Countess cried; “ that isn’t 
the way to talk to a real author. That’s only for the 
little upstarts who like to hear about their ‘published 
works/ Mr. Curran is above and beyond that sort 
of thing.” 


38 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Thank you, Countess,” said the author, grate¬ 
fully; “ if you can manage it, I’d like you to travel 
round with me and make that speech everywhere, 
just before I arrive.” 

“ I ought to be chagrined,” Roly admitted, “ but 
I’m not. I’m fascinated,—with both of you. What 
are you going to talk about, Mr. Curran ? Politics ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” and Hugh Curran smiled. “ I’m 
not going to talk at all. I’m going to listen.” 

“ To me,” said Ned Knox, joining them. “ You 
needn’t talk about your own books, Mr. Curran, but 
do settle a vexed question we were discussing the 
other day. Is motive or method a more important 
factor in a detective story? ” 

Curran looked a bit bored, but answered with 
evident patience. 

“ I think that is entirely a matter of opinion with 
both author and reader. Some are more interested in 
one, some in the other.” 

“ After all there are only three motives,” 
Meredith said, sententiously, “ greed, revenge 
and love.” 

He had quite evidently heard or read this state¬ 
ment, and pronounced it as a great truth. 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


39 


“ Haven’t you omitted an important one? ” asked 
Curran, quietly. “Isn’t fear sometimes an impel¬ 
ling motive ? ” 

“Fear? Of what?” 

“ Fear of harm from the victim, fear of revelation 
of a secret,—” Curran let his gaze wander round the 
room. Clearly, he was not interested in this talk. 

He looked at his beautiful hostess. Pauline sat 
still at the tea table, her hands clasped in her lap, her 
eyes, with a far away look gazing out of the window, 
across the lawn. She, too, was uninterested. 

Angel Bob, pacing up and down the terrace, was 
listening. 

“ I’ve no use for detective stories,” the Countess 
said, bluntly; “ I detest them. A good old fashioned 
love story for me. But, if I do read a murder yarn, 
what I like best is the finding of those funny little 
clues. Cigarette stubs, with the criminal’s mono¬ 
gram; a broken cuff-link, an initialled handkerchief, 
—ah, those are the things that you can’t get along 
without,—eh, Mr. Curran? ” 

“ They are certainly useful,” he smiled. “ But of 
late years we try to do without the broken cuff-link 
or the dropped handkerchief.” 


40 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Is that what you call circumstantial evidence? ” 
Stella Lawrence trailed over to the novelist. “ Just 
what is circumstantial evidence, Mr. Curran? ” 

She put the question as one of magnificent 
import. Stella was like that. She cared nothing at 
all for detective fiction, but if she asked a question 
concerning it, she fully expected detailed information. 
She got it. 

“ It’s this way, Miss Lawrence,” Curran said, his 
tone a bit patronizing. “ I’ll illustrate it by an anec¬ 
dote. An old darkey was arrested for stealing chick¬ 
ens, and he was convicted on circumstantial evidence. 

‘ What’s circumstantial evidence ? ’ a neighbor asked 
him. ‘ Well,’ he said, 4 ez near ez I kin splain it 
f’um de way it’s been splained to me, circumstantial 
evidence is de feathers dat you leaves lyin’ roun’ after 
you has done wid de chicken.’ That, Miss Law¬ 
rence, is practically what circumstantial evidence is. 
Or, rather, the clues that detectives set so much by, 
are merely feathers left around.” 

“ Oh, how graphic!” and Stella clasped her 
hands delightedly; “ and how wonderfully well you 
do dialect. Are you a Southerner, Mr. Curran ? ” 

“ No,” he returned, “ I’m from Indiana.” 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


41 


“ Of course,” exclaimed Roly Mears, “ where else 
could a real author come from?” 

But Curran made no reply. Again his glance 
roved toward Pauline, who, though not yet chatelaine 
in name, assumed the position of hostess. 

She raised her eyes and met his and quickly looked 
down again. Pauline had not the heedless effrontery 
of Anna, nor yet the calm poise of Countess Galaski. 

Mrs. Meredith, the busybody! sitting next Paul¬ 
ine, whispered, roguishly. “ Don’t be so embar¬ 
rassed, my dear, because a stranger shows his 
admiration. You are looking unusually lovely 
today.” 

Whereupon Pauline blushed almost vividly, and 
the perspicacious Hugh Curran smiled. 

“ Will you take me on at croquet, Stella ? ” asked 
Mears, “ you can trail round at that in those swishy 
draperies very effectively. And you couldn’t golf 
or bowl or tennis in them.” 

“Yes, Roly,—get two more—” 

“ No; I want you all to myself.” 

“ Is that the way one does here? ” asked Curran, 
quickly. “ Then, Miss Fuller, will you walk with 
me,—and may I have you all to myself? ” 


42 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ You may not! ” and Valentine Loft spoke de¬ 
cidedly. “ But, perhaps Mr. Curran, you do not 
know that Miss Fuller is my fiancee. I allow no man 
to have her ‘ all to himself.’ ” 

“ And quite right,” Curran bowed. “ Pardon me 
if I was indiscreet. Mrs. Knox, will you walk with 
me—round the gardens? ” 

“ All to yourself ? ” and Anna tilted her head and 
smiled up from under her long lashes. 

“ Yes,—if your husband will allow—” 

“ He doesn’t allow me anything,—except a quar¬ 
terly. Pm a twentieth century wife, and I do my 
own sweet will. Come along, Mr. Curran. Good- 
by, Ned.” She tossed her husband a kiss, and turned 
toward the steps. 

Angel Bob Baldwin followed her. 

“ Pm with you two,” he announced, cheerfully. 
“ I’m the three that makes the crowd.” 

“ Come on, Mr. Baldwin,” said Curran, so heart¬ 
ily that Anna bit her lip in annoyance. Had she then, 
made no impression on the lion’s heart? 

Her annoyance increased as they proceeded along 
the garden paths, for save for an occasional and 
almost perfunctory speech to her, the two men talked 
continuously of rare books and their authors. 

“You’re still collecting Incunabula?” Baldwin 



A CELEBRATED GUEST 


43 


asked, and Curran replied in enthusiastic affirmative. 

Then the talk touched upon Elzevirs and Bodinis, 
on Kelmscott Press and Doves Bindery, until Anna 
rebelled. 

“ You must either stop that Choctaw/’ she de¬ 
creed, “ or take me back to the house! I won’t be 
brought out here in this rose-scented dusk by two 
good-looking men, and have the talk entirely over my 
head! You ought to be ashamed! It isn’t done!” 

There was a pathetic note in her voice, a hint of 
tears, and each man felt guilty. Immediately they 
dropped the subject of books; Curran forbore to men¬ 
tion the work that he was about to discuss, and Angel 
deferred the account of a rare bargain he had lately 
acquired, till some more convenient time. 

“ Tell us all about yourself, Mr. Curran,” Anna 
said, by the way of a starter. “ Are you engaged to 
be married? ” 

“ No, indeed, why should I be? ” 

“Foolish question, Number 1008! Why should 
you not be? You are depriving some nice girl of a 
perfectly good husband.” 

“ Oh, I’m not perfectly good,—I’m indifferent 
bad. And, too, I’ve been married once.” 

“You have! Oh,” Anna’s voice became very 
tender, “ forgive me. Plas she been dead long? 


44 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ She isn’t dead at all. Did you never hear of 
Reno? ” 

“ I have—indirectly. So that’s the way it is.” 

“ I say, Curran,” and Angel Bob looked at him 
earnestly, “does Loft know this? ” 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure. Probably he does,— 
it’s no secret. Why? ” 

“ Only that he has had a special, almost an abnor* 
mal hatred of divorce and of divorced people. As 
a friend, let me ask of you not to say anything on 
the subject to him.” 

“ I shan’t purposely,—certainly. But what a 
queer notion. One might as well have a prejudice 
against blue-eyed men,—or against maple trees. 
Statistics prove—” 

“ Oh, we know all that,” said Anna, impatiently, 
“ and it isn’t a question of divorce at all. It’s a 
question of humoring Val’s whims. And I don’t 
mind telling you that your stay here will be a whole 
lot pleasanter if you don’t touch on that subject.” 

“ I surely agree. Any other subject taboo? ” 

“ Not by him,” Anna assured him. “ But if you 
care to consider poor little me, I’ll beg of you not to 
talk collecting all the time. Something tells me that 
when you all get started, say after dinner, tonight, 


A CELEBRATED GUEST 


45 


you’ll begin by looking over Val’s collections,—he 
hoards lots of things beside books and you’ll talk 
antiques and curios and bindings and such things— 
and I do hate ’em so!” 

“ Never mind, Little Anna, if they begin on that, 
I’ll take you off somewhere in the moonlight and 
flirt with you.” 

4 

Angel looked into her eyes with a glance that was 
not all make-believe. 

“ I appreciate that, Bob, for I know the old things 
interest you, too.” 

“ Only the books, Anna. I don’t care a rap for 
Val’s Egyptian stuff—or Mexican. I do care for 
books though.” 

“ And you hate to see them maltreated, eh, Mr. 
Baldwin ? ” Curran looked at him quizzically. 
“ You’d hate to see a rare old volume torn or injured, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

“ It would be sacrilege,” Angel said, emphatically. 

“ Imagine tearing out a leaf!” and Curran almost 
shuddered. 

“Why, who would do such a thing as that? ” 
cried Baldwin. 

“ The subject is taboo, remember,” and then 
Curran addressed himself to Anna. 


CHAPTER III 


THE TRAGEDY 

Dinner at Valhalla that night was a brilliant 
affair. 

Anna’s name for the place had caught on, and 
Loft began to like it as he heard it used by his guests. 

Anna, as chaperon, graced the head of the table, 
and Curran sat at her right hand. This left Pauline 
for Loft’s guest of honor, and as she took her place 
beside him, he thought she had never looked more 
beautiful. Her great dark eyes seemed brighter than 
usual and her cheeks showed a flush that was quite 
obviously not rouge. She wore black, her only orna¬ 
ment a long slender neck-chain of small bright dia¬ 
monds. She was in vivacious, almost perverse mood, 
quite unusual for the calm, gracious Pauline. 

Anna, tonight, was demure and coy. She set her¬ 
self the task of subjugating Hugh Curran, and so 
far as she could see she was putting it over. 

Yet the man was tricky, she could see that, and 
more than likely, she thought, his devotion was 
insincere. 


46 


47 


THE TRAGEDY 

Though commonplace looking, Curran had an air 
of easy superiority that made him almost distin¬ 
guished. But his round red face and sparse sandy 
hair precluded all pretension to good looks. 

Countess Galaski was gorgeous. Robed in white 
satin, glittering with jewels and autocratic of manner, 
she appropriated the best of everything, was rude to 
everybody, and yet somehow charmed all by her gay 
naivete. 

Stella wore especially long and diaphanous draper¬ 
ies, of pale green and silver, and looked more than 
ever like the Blessed Damosel. 

On the whole Loft had a right to feel proud of 
his guests, for aside from their appearance they were 
a group of mentally alert and even original talkers. 

But when the Countess began to expatiate on her 
marvelous collection of miniatures, Anna gayly called 
a halt. 

“ Countess, darling,” she said, “ we beg of you to 
don’t. Mr. Curran is a book collector and he’s crazy 
to talk Black Letters, or whatever they are, with 
Angel Bob, who is an Old Book Fiend too. Val, of 
course, collects everything, from books to old band- 
boxes, and I believe Mrs. Meredith collects postcards. 


48 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


But they’ve all promised not to talk Collect at the 
table. So, be goody-girl, Countess dear, and drop 
your miniatures.” 

“ Oh, very well,” and the Countess smiled at 
Little Anna, “ the loss is yours not mine. But I 
have to talk. I’ll tell you about—” 

“ Wait a minute,” the incorrigible Roly dared to 
interrupt her, “ since we have Mr. Curran here, and 
Lord knows when I’ll ever get a chance at him again, 
let’s talk Detective Stories. We all love ’em.” 

“ Not all of us,” Anna dissented; “ but you may 
talk on that subject for fifteen minutes, Roly. After 
that, I shall choose the theme.” 

“ To go back to a discussion we had the other 
day,” Angel Bob began, “ what do you think the 
best and finest method of murder, Mr. Curran? ” 

Mrs. Meredith gave a little gasp at this, and her 
husband looked shocked. 

But Curran took it as a matter of course. 

“ Each method has its advantages,” he began. 
“ And too, much depends on the criminal. If he has 
any surgical training, stabbing is indicated, if he has 
a good aim, shooting is better. An athlete would, of 
course, strangle.” 


THE TRAGEDY 


49 


“ And a woman would give poison,” said Pauline, 
slowly. 

" Yes,” and Hugh Curran looked at her, “ yes, a 
woman probably would.” 

“If this conversation keeps up,” Mrs. Meredith 
spoke hysterically, “ I shall have to leave the table.” 

‘ Don’t be a fool, Madame! ” exclaimed the 
Countess. “If you would read De Quincey’s essay 
on Murder As A Fine Art, you would learn that the 
greatest minds are willing to discuss such matters. 
One does not have to be a spook to discuss 
Spiritualism! ” 

“ Spiritualism is a decent subject,” Mr. Meredith 
said; “ whereas, murder is, or should be, outside the 
pale of our thoughts.” 

“ Well, you have to be dead before you can be 
a spirit,” the Countess returned, “ and if one is un¬ 
fortunate enough to be murdered, there’s no reason 
why those still alive shouldn’t talk about it.” 

“ I’m for strangling,” Baldwin said; “ then 
there’s no weapon,—no * feathers left around,’ you 
see. Also, granting one wants to kill a man, what a 
pleasure it must be to feel one’s fingers on his throat, 
—tightening, closing in—tighter,—a gasp—” 


4 


50 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Angel Bob, in mischievous mood, portrayed his 
speech in dumb show, with such realism that Mrs. 
Meredith shrieked and rose from the table. 

“ Sit down! ” commanded the Countess, in ring¬ 
ing tones, and Mrs. Meredith sat down. 

“I’d shoot,” and Ned Knox, picking up the theme, 
acted the part of an intruder, taking aim at an unsus¬ 
picious victim. He chose Loft for his purpose, and 
aimed a fork carefully at his right temple. 

“ But I can see you,” Loft objected. 

“ Turn your head away, then,” Knox counselled. 

“ Shooting has disadvantages,” Curran said, 
musingly. “ There’s the noise.” 

“ Silencer,” returned Knox. 

“ Not always practicable. Then, there’s the 
weapon.” 

“ Easy enough to dispose of,” Knox laughed, 
“except in fiction, where it is needed as a clue,—if 
it has initials on it, or is one of a pair.” 

“Righto!” and Curran laughed appreciatively. 
“ I’m glad to learn how you readers are on to our 
hackneyed tricks. Stabbing is a good way—” 

“Yes,” Loft agreed; “with the library paper- 
cutter. Used to be an old Italian dagger, and the 


THE TRAGEDY 


51 


victim many times said it ought not to be left around, 
as it was a suggestion and a temptation to any mur¬ 
derous-minded bystander.” 

“ Oh, Lord, you know all the tricks of the trade!” 
Curran sighed in mock despair. “ I confess it’s hard 
to get a novelty for a story nowadays.” 

“ But it’s easy to murder,” said Bob. 

“ It isn’t,” contended Loft; “ it’s possible, but it’s 
a delicate and difficult affair to put over artistically. 
I’m not talking of yeggs and gunmen.” 

“ Except for them, it’s impossible.” Ned Knox 
averred. “ I don’t propose to try it for that reason. 
I know I’d fail.” 

“Of course you would,” and Anna giggled. “If 
you could put it over, you’d have tried it on me long 
ago. I’ve given you sufficient provocation, I know. 
Anyway, time’s up,—No more murder talk. Now, 
we’ll discuss Mr. Curran. How do you all like him? ” 

“ Top hole!” cried Roly Mears. “ But I want to 
know more about him. What does he eat for break¬ 
fast ? What—” 

“ Wait till morning and you’ll find that out,” 
Loft interrupted. “ I want to know his real name. 
No secret, is it, Mr. Curran?” 


52 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“Not a bit. I had another name, but I lost it, 
somehow. It's my besetting sin,—to lose things. I 
lost my wife, then I lost my ambition. I found that 
again, though. But mostly I lose material things. 
I can’t keep a pencil or a rubber or a sheet of 
paper, no matter how many I buy. I’m just naturally 
untidy. My room always looks like Broadway the 
day after Election night. My brushes just won’t 
stay on my dresser; my clothes crawl out of their 
wardrobes and drawers. I can’t help it,—are you 
like that, Miss Fuller? ” 

Apparently he addressed Pauline because she was 
looking at him intently, seemingly interested in his 
tale of his personal derelictions. 

“ N—no,” she replied, looking startled at being 
thus spoken to. “ I don’t think so,—I—I never 
thought about it.” 

“ Goodness, Pauline,” said Anna, staring at her, 
“ don’t take it so seriously. I can vouch for your 
tidiness. I never knew a girl who kept her top 
bureau drawer in order as well as you do.” 

“ That is a sure test,” declared the Countess. 
“ I’ll bet Miss Lawrence’s is a kaleidoscope of laces 
and ribbons, gloves and handkerchiefs.” 


THE TRAGEDY 


53 


“ It is!” said Stella, good-naturedly. “And I 
want it so—With my temperament, I couldn’t be 
methodical or systematic or anything like that. Fate 
rules me—” 

“ And you leave it to Fate to clear up your bureau 
drawers,” said Roly, laughing. “ Good idea, so 
do I.” 

“ I don’t,” said Mrs. Meredith primly, but no 
one seemed to care deeply. 

The Merediths were out of place, but had been 
asked because of some social obligation of Loft’s. 
They were shocked several times during dinner, but 
perhaps Mrs. Meredith’s sensibilities were most 
greatly jarred, when, leaving the dining room, she 
chanced to overhear Hugh Curran ask the butler for 
a toothpick. 

The capable Binns didn’t allow himself to be jar¬ 
red, but he was bothered, for the request caught him 
unprepared. However, he quickly bethought him¬ 
self of the tiny Japanese wooden toothpicks that the 
cook used to pin rolled morsels and he soon supplied 
the distinguished guest. 

Angel Bob noticed the incident and was more 


54 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

amused at Mrs. Meredith’s disdain than at Curran’s 
unconventionality. 

The party broke up into smaller groups. 

Anna seized upon Curran, who went, nothing 
loath, with her to see the moonlight from the 
upper terrace. 

Loft and Pauline went for a stroll in the rose 
garden; Roly Mears set himself to tease Stella and 
to please the Countess, succeeding well with both. 

As it neared bedtime, all gathered for good- 
nights in the library. 

“ Tomorrow,” said Curran, as he looked at the 
filled shelves, “ I want to spend the morning in here. 
You have wonderful treasures, Mr. Loft, and I 
anticipate joyous hours with them.” 

“ I am clairvoyant, Mr. Curran,” Stella said, look¬ 
ing at him dreamily, “ and I can read your soul.” 

“ Good Heavens, don’t, Miss Lawrence! It’s not 
fit reading for a young girl!” 

“ But I’m not like other girls,” Stella was deter¬ 
mined to have her innings, “ I’m apart,—alone.” 

“Yes?” said Curran, not thinking of anything 
better to say. 

“ Yes. And in your soul I read a longing for all 
that is beautiful and good—” 


THE TRAGEDY 


55 


“ I like them beautiful,—I’m not so insistent on 
the good,” and Curran smiled. This line of talk 
always bored him. 

“ Things, I mean, not people. Oh, I can read 
you, Mr. Curran.” 

“ And I can read you, Miss Lawrence. I’m 
clairvoyant, myself.” 

“ Oh, are you? ” cried the Countess. “ Read us 
all, won’t you ? I don’t care for Stella’s foolishness, 
—you shut up, Stella.” 

“ Want a table?” asked Loft, “or any para¬ 
phernalia? ” 

“ Oh, I’m not a parlor Magician,” Curran pro¬ 
tested. “ I don’t know anything about legerdemain 
or hocus-pocus. But I have a natural gift of read¬ 
ing minds.” 

“Don’t do it!” exclaimed Roly Mears. “If 
these people know what I’m thinking they’d never 
speak to me again!” 

“ You’re joking,” said Curran, “ but there are 
some really quaking in their shoes, lest I tell some¬ 
thing they don’t want told.” 

“I know!” said the Countess, “ it’s Mrs. Mere¬ 
dith ! I always suspected she led a double life! Well, 


56 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


much as I want to know the truth about it, I beg 
of you, Mr. Curran, don’t tell it all out in public.” 

Mrs. Meredith blushed angrily, but said nothing. 
She had learned it was better not to irritate Countess 
Galaski. 

“ Go on,” urged Anna. “ Tell us something to 
prove your powers. I hate people who say they can 
do things and then do nothing at all!” 

“Yes,” said the Countess, “go on! Tell any¬ 
thing you like about me.” 

“ Very well,” said Curran, “ you’re thinking that 
you wish you had worn your old slippers after all, 
for the new ones are a bit tight and they do pinch.” 

“You’re perfectly right!” and the Countess 
joined in the general merriment. “ But that isn’t 
clairvoyance. I’ve had my face screwed up with 
pain all the evening! ” 

“Well, how’s this, then? In the mind of one 
of you is a most disquieting thought, which I may 
suggest by Black Pansy” 

“ That’s me! ” said Ned Knox, as Curran waited 
for some response. “ I’ve a lot of stock in that mine, 
and unless she picks up soon, I’ll probably start ‘Over 
the hills to the poorhouse!’ ” 


THE TRAGEDY 


57 


“ How did you know it, though ? ” and Anna 
looked at Curran, incredulously. 

“ Clairvoyance,” replied Curran, not caring to 
say that he had seen a newspaper thrown down, with 
a marked notice about the mine. 

“ Also,” he went on, “ as I look around, I feel 
vibrations from others of you.” 

He glanced from one face to another, all breath¬ 
lessly watching him. 

“ If I should say,” he spoke very slowly, “if I 
should say Rosalie —would I reflect the word in any¬ 
body’s mind?” 

A dead silence followed. 

Removing their regard from Curran, one looked 
at another, but no one spoke. 

Nor did any one look especially self-conscious. 
Loft looked inquiring, Angel looked bewildered. The 
women looked merely interested, except Pauline, who 
seemed bored. She moved restlessly, and stared 
hard at Curran. 

“ Right,” Curran said; “ it’s better not to recog¬ 
nize the reference.” He nodded his head as in satis¬ 
faction. 


58 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Suppose I say, ' Mr, S/ ” he went on. “ Is he 
in any one's thoughts? ” 

Again the silence fell. 

Anna, frankly curious, glanced quickly from one 
to another. From the faces, as she read them, the 
reference might mean something to Valentine Loft 
or to Bob Baldwin. On the other hand, they might 
look disturbed, as they both did, merely from inter¬ 
est in the proceedings. 

“ Oh, well,” Curran resumed, “ I see, the people 
who recognize my allusions prefer not to say so. I 
don’t blame them. Now, Mrs. Knox, shall I tell 
what’s in your mind? Shall I mention the name 
of—” 

“No!” screamed Anna, “no! If you do, I’ll 
kill you!” 

But she told her husband afterward that she only 
said this to make a sensation. 

“ Then,” said Curran, “ I’ll read Miss Lawrence’s 
mind. Last night Miss Lawrence dreamed—” 

“ Stop!” Stella cried, her eyes staring; “ if you 
dare divulge that dream—” 

Curran smiled. He had made a stab in the dark, 
feeling sure that the psychic Stella, would always be 


THE TRAGEDY 59 

dreaming and interpreting her dreams according to 
Freud. 

“ Guess we’ve had enough of this sort of thing/’ 
and Loft rose. “ Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Curran, 
to read my mind, I can read it for myself.” 

“ Nothing startling in it just now,” Curran said; 
“ but there will be soon. I’m slightly prophetic as 
well as clairvoyant, and I prognosticate a lot of sur¬ 
prising, even tragic thoughts for your mind soon.” 

“ All right, I’ll go to bed and sleep while the 
sleeping’s good, then,” and Loft inaugurated good- 
nights, and the party dispersed. 

By next morning Loft had forgotten the irrita¬ 
tion he felt at Curran’s strange speech, and after his 
breakfast he went to the library to await the coming 
of his guest to talk books. 

The women breakfasted in their rooms, the men 
dropping into the breakfast room whenever they 
pleased. 

Loft was down first, but was soon joined by 
Angel and Ned Knox, both of whom wanted to hear 
Curran discourse on the subject of rare books. 

“ Keep your ears open, Bob, and find out what he 
wants,” advised Loft. “ You ought to be able to 
make a sale or two.” 


60 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Hope so,” Bob assented. “ He wants only In¬ 
cunabula, though, and that’s not so easy come by just 
now.” 

But the hours passed, and no sign of Hugh 
Curran. 

At last, Loft, looking at the clock, said, “ I’m 
annoyed. I have to go over to the Club before 
luncheon, and the time is growing short. I’ve a 
notion to send for Curran. I don’t believe he’s still 
asleep.” 

The butler was despatched to learn as to this, 
and was directed to be discreet. 

Discretion itself, Binns returned to say that he 
could hear no sound from Mr. Curran’s room and 
that though he had softly tried the door, it was 
locked. 

They waited another half hour, and then Loft 
said, nervously, “ You don’t suppose anything has 
happened, do you? Maybe the man is ill.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Knox, “ Men don’t get ill over¬ 
night. He looked a healthy chap.” 

“ All the same, I’m going up myself,” and Loft 
went out to the hall. 

He soon returned, saying, “ There must be 


THE TRAGEDY 


61 


something the matter. I knocked and even pounded 
on his door, but got no response. I even listened 
at the keyhole, and I couldn’t hear any breathing. 
Do you suppose he left in the night? ” 

“ Through the window? ” asked Angel. 

“ Well, it’s queer. If we can’t get anything 
from him, I’m going to break in.” 

“ Oh, don’t do that!” cried Knox. “ Send Binns 
up outside—to the windows, you know.” 

“ Can’t,—it’s so high.” 

“ Ladder?” 

“ Yes,—but—oh, I suppose it’s all right.” 

But after another hour, Loft declared he was 
going to get into that room. 

“ I’m responsible for him,” he said; “he’s my 
guest, and if he’s merely sound asleep, he can’t do 
more than curse me for my intrusion.” 

No response being made to continued knockings, 
and no sound heard by any of them listening, Loft 
ordered Binns to get a ladder and climb up to the 
window. 

The butler did so, and returned to say that he 
could see Mr. Curran, fully dressed, sitting in an 
arm chair. The window was fastened. “ Should he 
break in ? ” 


62 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Yes, by the door,” said Loft, suddenly deter¬ 
mined. “ That man must have had a stroke or 
something, if he’s still dressed. In his evening togs, 
Binns?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ To work, then. You and I, together.” 

Loft and the butler put their shoulders to the 
bedroom door, and after one or two efforts burst 
through. 

Hugh Curran sat in an arm chair, slightly relaxed 
in posture and as they immediately discovered, stone 
dead. The body was cold, proving he had died some 
hours previous. 

The four men looked at him and at each other. 

“Method?” asked Ned Knox, grimly. 

Loft looked about him. 

“ I don’t see any weapon,” he said, shuddering, 
“but we can’t think about that now. There’s too 
much to do. Binns, call up Doctor Gilvray.” 

“ What earthly good can a doctor do? ” asked 
Angel, his blue eyes staring at the dead man. 

“ We have to have him,” returned Loft, posi¬ 
tively. 

“ Yes,” agreed Knox, “he can tell whether it’s 
natural death, accident, suicide or murder.” 


THE TRAGEDY 


63 


Angel looked at him curiously as he glibly rolled 
off these possibilities. 

“ Then,” Loft went on, “ we must call the 
police—” 

“ Not unless the doctor says so,” put in Angel. 
“ If he says it’s a stroke—” 

“ That’s so, we’ll wait for his report. Now, the 
worst is, telling the women. Ned, you tell Anna and 
let her tell the others. No, she’s too emotional. 
Here’s a better plan. Angel, you ask the maids to 
get the Countess to give you an interview. Then 
you tell her about it, and let her tell Stella and the 
Merediths. I’ll tell Pauline, myself.” 

“ Are the girls up? ” 

“ They’d better get up. The housekeeper can 
tell them to do so, but let them hear of the—this— 
from one of us.” 

“ I suppose there’ll be fainting and hysterics,” 
said Bob, apprehensively, as he started on his unhap¬ 
py errand. 

“ Maybe,—from Stella. Not the others,” said 
Knox. “ I won’t let Anna make a scene,—not out¬ 
side our rooms, anyway.” 

The two men went away, and Binns having gone 


64 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


to telephone, Valentine Loft was left alone with his 
dead guest. 

He looked about the room. It was clear that 
Curran had not begun to get ready for bed. He 
had not even removed tie or collar. 

Yet the room was in disorder. Near the dead 
man’s chair were two books on the floor, several 
newspapers, a few scattered cigar ashes, some bits of 
torn paper, two lead pencils,— 

Loft’s mental cataloguing of these articles was 
interrupted by the arrival of the doctor. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE MEREDITH STORY 

“Who is this man?” asked Doctor Gilvray, 
sharply, as he strode across the room to look for 
himself on the dead man’s features. 

“ Hugh Curran,” Loft answered, briefly. “ A 
fairly well-known author of fiction—” 

“ Yes, yes, I know Curran,—sleuth stories,— 
good ones, too. H’m,—been dead several hours,— 
six or eight, surely. Bad symptoms—” 

“What do you mean by symptoms?” Loft 
showed an eager curiosity. 

“ Look at his face—cyanotic. Eyes wide open, 
—signs of bloody froth on his lips,—teeth tight 
clenched,—this man—” the doctor stopped to sniff at 
Curran’s mouth,—“ yes, this man died of poison,— 
Hydrocyanic acid. Suicide?” 

“ Good Lord, I don’t know!” Valentine Loft 
stared. “ I scarcely know him at all,—but, no,—I’m 
sure he wouldn’t commit suicide,—he had all sorts 
of things to live for!” 

“ Well—well,—let’s look further. Ah, yes, 

65 


5 


66 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


yes,—it’s Prussic acid, for sure. There’s a distinct 
odor of it on his lips. So, he either took the stuff 
voluntarily,—or, it was administered by someone 
else.” 

“ But—” Loft looked puzzled. “ But the room 
was locked.” 

“ That would argue suicide,—but then, I see no 
container, do you? The poison must have acted 
instantaneously, and he would have had no more than 
time to fling away the paper or bottle,—scarcely that. 
He would more likely have dropped it where he sat. 
Has any one interfered with the room in any way ? ” 

“No one. I’ve been here alone ever since we 
discovered this. And I’ve touched nothing,—noth¬ 
ing at all.” 

“ There’ll have to be an autopsy,—and, of course, 
you realize, Mr. Loft, it’s a case for the police. I 
shall have to notify them at once.” 

“ Oh, what a horrible situation. I’ve a house 
party here,—and, aside from that, I don’t want my 
home invaded by a lot of snooping detectives—and 
all for a perfect stranger.” 

“ How’d he happen to be here? ” 

“ The people felt interested in him,—as a sort 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


67 

of celebrity,—and I asked him for a week-end visit. 
See here,—if anybody did for him, how did the 
intruder get in? We had to break in this morning.” 

“ One of those seemingly insoluble mysteries of 
entrance, that always proves to be a simple matter 
after all. Any of the servants have a pass key? ” 

“ No; and, anyway, the key was in the lock.” 

“ Well, that’s outside my jurisdiction. I’ll have 
Detective Kinney put on this,—he’s a sharp one. 
Now, get your household together,—say, in the lib¬ 
rary, and I’ll have to question them pretty closely.” 

“ Awful nuisance,—but I know it must be done. 
I wish I’d never seen Hugh Curran!” 

“ Where is his home? Where are his people? ” 
“ I don’t know. He hails from Indiana, but I 
think he lives in New York just now. The Club 
people will know all about him. Now, Doctor, Miss 
Fuller, my promised wife, is staying here. I want 
to tell her of this matter myself. And,—I wish you 
could excuse her from the general inquiry—” 

“ Can’t be done. Must have everybody present, 
servants and all. I daresay some can be quickly dis¬ 
missed, but I must get all the testimony possible. 
It’s a strange case, I think,—though it may turn 
out a simple matter after all. Go ahead, Mr. Loft, 


68 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


and tell the lady about it, and I’ll call Police Head¬ 
quarters and get busy at once. Is there a telephone 
in the hall? Yes? Well, I’ll lock this room door 
against my return. Oh, the lock is fairly burst off! 
Never mind,—I can keep my eye on it. I don’t want 
anyone meddling in there.” 

“ Here’s Baldwin,” Loft said, as they met Bob 
in the hall. “ Mount guard in Curran’s room, Angel, 
while the doctor is telephoning.” 

“ Don’t like the job, but I’ll do it,” Baldwin said, 
a rueful look on his usually smiling face. “ Hurry 
up all you can, Doctor.” 

Loft went away to seek Pauline. He found her 
in the pretty sitting room that belonged to her suite, 
and though she had not yet been told of the tragedy, 
she knew from various unexplained stirrings about 
the house that something had happened. 

“ What is it, Val? ” she asked, “ what has hap¬ 
pened? ” 

Gently he told her the bare facts as he knew 
them. He had feared she would be greatly shocked, 
possibly hysterical, but he was not prepared for the 
utter prostration that overtook her. 

She gasped, choked for breath and almost fainted. 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


69 


“ No, don’t call anybody,” she asked, as he started 
for the door. “I’ll be all right in a minute. Why— 
who—who did it? ” 

“ Pauline, darling, we don’t know that anybody 
did. It may be the man took his own life. Doctor 
Gilvray isn’t certain. And maybe it’s a stroke of 
some sort. Gilvray thought he detected the odor 
of bitter almonds, but I couldn’t notice it. And the 
room was locked, and there’s no bottle or paper to 
be found,—so I’m inclined to think it may have been 
a stroke.” 

“ Do you? ” Pauline gazed into his eyes. “ Do 
you, really, Val? ” 

“ Yes, dear, I do. But why are you so con¬ 
cerned? To be sure the occurrence itself is awful,— 
coming as it does during this visit of yours, that was 
to be such a gay, happy party. But aside from that, 
you’ve no personal interest in Curran, have you? ” 

“ Oh, no, no. Of course not. How could I 
have? I saw him for the first time yesterday,— 
yesterday” 

“ That is so, dear, isn’t it ? You never saw Hugh 
Curran before? ” 

“ I never laid eyes on Hugh Curran until yes- 


70 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


terday,” she averred, almost solemnly, and with a 
straightforward gaze at Loft. “ And I hope I need 
never lay eyes on him again.” 

“ No, sweetheart, no, of course not. We will 
have—him taken away just as soon as possible. But, 
—I’m sorry,—you’ll have to come downstairs now, 
and answer a few questions the Examiner will ask 
you.” 

“Oh, no, Valentine! I can’t,—I can’t! Don’t 
make me do that! Please, please, dear, if you love 
me,—don’t make me do that!” 

“ I’m not making you, Pauline,—I tried to get 
you off. But it is imperative,—it is the law—” 

“ I don’t care if it is the law,—I can’t I— 
can’t—” she broke into deep, silent sobbing. 

“ My precious girl, I’d save you this ordeal if 
it were in any way possible to do so. But it isn’t. 
The detective will come up here if you don’t go down. 
And think, Pauline, it isn’t any more than the rest 
will do. Anna, Stella, the Countess, the Merediths, 
—all of us have to do the same. You will be asked 
only a few perfunctory questions,—it will be over in 
a few minutes. Whereas,” he looked stern, “ where¬ 
as dear, if you refuse, it will look strange,—even— 
suspicious—” 



THE MEREDITH STORY 


71 


“ Oh, of course I’ll go, Val. I’ll do whatever 
you tell me to. I .only felt scared and horrified at 

i 

first. Shall we go now ? ” 

Suddenly Pauline had regained her poise, and 
was her own calm self again. She turned to Loft, 
her sweet face submissive, even willing to obey 
his request. 

“ Yes, come now. The others are gathered, I 
daresay. Don’t talk much, Pauline. Just answer 
what they ask, carefully and concisely.” 

“ Why, Val, what do you mean? Is there any— 
any danger—” 

“ No, of co.urse not. But it’s never wise to dilate 
on the subject you’re asked about. However, tell 
all you know, of course.” 

“ I’ll glance at you, and if I’m doing all right you 
nod. If not shake your head.” 

“ Very well. Oh, I’m so sorry, Pauline, that you 

must do this.” 

“ Never mind, it’s all right. Come along.” 

Together they went downstairs. 

Their interview had been longer than Loft real¬ 
ized, and the household had assembled in the library. 

The whole atmosphere of the house seemed 
changed. 


72 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Pauline had shuddered as they passed an officer 
in the hall, and another was to be seen patrolling the 
front terrace. 

In the library Doctor Gilvray and Detective Kin¬ 
ney were ready to begin their inquiries. 

(f We needn’t be over formal,” the Doctor said. 
" First, Mr. Loft, you will tell all you know of Hugh 
Curran and how he came to be your guest.” 

Valentine Loft stated clearly and concisely the 
little he knew of the author, and explained that he 
had invited him merely because his guests were inter¬ 
ested and also because Mr. Curran had expressed a 
desire to talk with Mr. Baldwin on the subject of 
old and rare books. 

“ He wanted to see your collection too, Val,” 
Angel put in, as if disclaiming the entire responsi¬ 
bility. 

“ Yes,—he said he meant to spend this morning 
in the library,” Loft returned, looking about him in 
rather an awed way. 

“ Then that doesn’t point to a suicide,” said the 
Detective, quickly. 

“ No, and it wasn’t a suicide,” Doctor Gilvray 
declared. “ The man was murdered.” 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


73 


At this Anna gave a gasp of horror, and clutched 
at her husband’s arm. 

“ And you were all discussing murder,—and how 
it could be done!” she cried, in an hysterical whisper 
that ended in a faint shriek. 

“What’s that?” asked Kinney, ^ all discussing 
methods of murder? When? ” 

“ Last night,” said Loft, calmly. “ Mr. Curran 
was a Detective Story writer and we all talked of 
such matters to him.” 

“ Yes, we did,” Stella Lawrence said; “ and each 
chose a different means. And last night I 
dreamed—” 

“ Now, Stella,” Anna interrupted, “ you will not 
tell your dream, I forbid it!” 

“ We don’t care especially for dreams,” the Doc¬ 
tor said, “ we want facts. Will you each in turn 
please tell me, if you heard or saw anything suspi¬ 
cious or unusual,—after you had said good-night 
and gone to your rooms? You, Mr. Loft? ” 

“ Not a thing,” said Loft, promptly. “ I closed 
my bedroom door, and heard nothing at all till 
morning.” 

Ned Knox and Angel Bob Baldwin said the same 


74 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

thing, and declared they had heard nothing what¬ 
ever. 

But Mr. Meredith was more informative. 

“ I did,” he asserted; “ I heard footsteps in the 
hall several times after I had retired.” 

“You were wakeful?” asked Kinney. 

“ Fm a poor sleeper always. Mrs. Meredith 
slept soundly, and was not disturbed, but I heard a 
stealthy tread passing my door, and thinking it might 
be some one desiring me I opened my door and 
looked out.” 

“ Whom did you see ? ” 

“ I don't know who it was, but I saw someone 
just disappearing into Mr. Curran’s room, and the 
door closed at once.” 

“You are sure it wasn’t Mr. Curran himself?” 

“ I think not, because I heard voices talking. Of 
course I could make out no words, of course I didn’t 
try to do so, but it was either Mr. Curran or a visitor 
of his who went in at that door.” 

“ The hall was dark? ” 

“ Dimly lighted by a low light at the farther 
end. It was fairly dark at our end.” 

“ And this man that you saw—” 


THE MEREDITH STORY 75 

“ Pardon me, sir,” Mr. Meredith’s voice was 
apologetic, “ I didn’t say it was a man.” 

“ Was it not?” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

“ Ah; could it have been a chambermaid, with 
fresh towels ? ” 

“ It might have been.” 

“ You know it was a woman? ” 

“ It was a person wearing a long, dark shawl 
or cape, as if to conceal the figure. As I say, it was 
dark, and I could not see her clearly, but,—yes, if 
I am asked, I must say it was quite evidently a 
woman.” 

“You did not recognize her identity? ” 

“ I did not. As soon as I saw the matter in no 
way concerned me, I closed my door and went back 
to bed.” 

“You heard nothing further? ” 

“ Perhaps half an hour later I heard Mr. Curran’s 
door open again.” 

“ And the lady came out ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I didn’t open my own door that 
time. It was none of my affair.” 

“ At what time was this, Mr. Meredith? ” 


76 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ This last time was shortly after half-past two.” 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ The clock in the upper hall strikes the half 
hours. In my wakefulness I had heard it strike 
half-past one, and two o’clock, and this time it struck 
half-past two. It was a few moments later that I 
heard Mr. Curran’s door open and shut for the 
second time.” 

“ And you didn’t look out into the hall? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Did you hear anything? ” 

“ I heard light footsteps,—so light as to be 
scarcely audible.” 

“ Passing your door?” 

“ Yes; going along the hall.” 

“ Then you heard any other door open or shut? ” 

“ I did not,—though I listened for it.” 

“ And you have no idea who the woman was? 99 

“ Not the slightest.” 

“ Was she tall or short? ” 

“ Neither, especially. I saw only the dim figure, 
apparently a woman, with a long shawl or robe that 
concealed the outlines of her figure.” 

“ Did she wear anything on her head? ” 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


77 


“ I couldn’t notice anything-. The light was too 
faint to discern that.” 

“ It must have been a housekeeper or maid taking 
some forgotten necessaries to his room,” said Loft, 
decidedly. “ There is no other explanation.” 

“ You can’t make a suspect out of that woman, 
anyway,” put in Roly Mears. “ For, you see, who¬ 
ever it was, Mr. Curran locked his door after her 
departure.” 

“If Mr. Curran was murdered, he couldn’t have 
locked his door after the murderer,” said Detec¬ 
tive Kinney, curtly. 

“ Nor could the murderer have locked it after 
himself,” said Bob. “ That’s a hard nut, Mr. Kin¬ 
ney. How are you going to crack it? ” 

“ I’m not taking the case by that handle,” Kinney 
said, with a dogged expression. “ I start first with 
an investigation of the whereabouts and doings of 
everyone in the house; next, I look for a motive—” 

“That’s a sorry quest,” Loft said; “no one in 
this house could have possibly had a motive for mur¬ 
dering Hugh Curran. There’s an absolute fact to 
start with.” 

“ Nothing of the sort,” snapped the Countess. 



78 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“You don't know, Valentine, that some of your ser¬ 
vants hadn't a previous acquaintance with that man, 
—and, maybe, had some old grudge to pay off,— 
something serious enough to call forth such revenge 
as murder. I had small use for Mr. Curran myself.” 

“Tut, tut; Countess,” began Roly Mears, but 
she interrupted him: 

“ Don't you tut tut me! I merely say such a 
thing is possible, and Valentine has no right to say 
it isn't.” 

“ As a matter of fact,” Loft returned, “ I wasn't 
thinking of the servants. It is possible in their case, 
I suppose. But I meant that all of us, never having 
met Hugh Curran before, surely had no motive for 
murdering him.” 

“ I've met him before,” said Angel, “ but only in 
the relation of client and book dealer,—and our 
transactions were always most amicable and satis¬ 
factory.” 

“ Don’t be silly!” and Loft began to lose patience. 
“ I meant and I repeat it, Mr. Kinney, neither I, 
myself, nor any of my guests have had sufficient 
social acquaintance with Mr. Curran to have felt 
enmity toward him or to have any motive for killing 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


79 


him. I trust you will find out who did it,—if it is a 
murder; I trust you will prove it a suicide if it is 
one; but in any case, I hope you will be able to 
remove the body shortly, and to finish up this inquiry 
as soon as may be, and leave us to ourselves.” 

“ I should be glad to do all that, Mr. Loft,” the 
detective said looking serious, “ but these things are 
not so easily disposed of. It is my duty to investi¬ 
gate thoroughly, and my duty must be done. These 
inquiries are necessary as a preliminary measure, and 
then I shall proceed to the real work of investigation. 
Mrs. Knox, I learn that the rooms occupied by you 
and your husband are near Mr. Curran’s room also, 
—-did you see or hear this woman Mr. Meredith 
tells of? ” 

“ No, I didn’t,” replied Anna, haughtily, “ and 
he didn’t either. Mr. Meredith dreamed that or 
imagined it. Who in the world would be trailing into 
Mr. Curran’s room at that hour? Maids don’t take 
towels to guests after midnight,—had Mi*. Curran 
wanted any service, the butler would have looked 
after him. None of the ladies of our house party 
visited Mr. Curran in his room and so I say Mr. 
Meredith dreamed or imagined that whole yarn!” 


80 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


14 That’s right, Anna,” and the Countess nodded 
her head, emphatically. “If any one did go there, 
it must have been Mrs. Meredith—” 

“ Madam!” interrupted Mrs. Meredith’s husband. 
“ Why not ? ” asked the Countess, coolly. “ She 
might have heard the poor man having a stroke or 
an illness, and thought she could be of help. Mrs. 
Meredith is, of course, of an age when such a kind 
act would not be unfitting.” 

“ I can assure you, Mrs. Meredith did nothing 
of the sort. I resent your implication that she might 
have done so!” 

“ But, Mr. Meredith,” Anna’s tone was velvety 
though her eyes glittered, “ you laid us all open to 
that same implication. You declared that some one 
of us went into Mr. Curran’s room.” 

“ I am not considering the manners or morals of 
this party,” Doctor Gilvray said, severely. “ As 
County Medical Examiner, it is my place to learn 
all I can regarding this affair. I wish you all to 
speak as frankly as Mr. Meredith has done—” 
“Whether it’s true or not?” said Anna, 
flippantly. 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


81 


“ I want only the truth. Mrs. Knox, from your 
brief acquaintance with Mr. Curran, would you 
say he was a man on the verge of committing 
suicide? ” 

“ Most certainly not,” said Anna, promptly. “ He 
had too many irons in the fire. He was too deeply 
in love with life. His new book will be published 
next week. His recent book, made into a Moving 
Picture, will be released shortly, and he looked for¬ 
ward with eagerness to seeing it on the films. No, 
sir, last night, that man had no more intention of 
committing suicide than I have this minute!” 

“ You liked him, Mrs. Knox? ” 

“ Very much/’ said Anna, heartily. “ He 
was entertaining, witty, courteous,—and, a trifle 
flirtatious.” 

“ Ah, a fine line of virtues. You learned a great 
deal of him in one evening.” 

“ Yes, I did. We went for a long walk, and he 
told me a lot about himself.” 

“ He did! Then perhaps you can tell us of his 
life,—his home.” 

“ He had no home,—I mean no house. He 

lived at hotels or clubs, rather a roamer, I gathered, 
6 


82 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

—going from one city to another as the whim took 
him.” 

“ He was married? ” 

“ He had been. He was divorced.” 

“ Recently? ” 

“ About six years ago, I think he said.” 

“ Do you know whom he married? ” 

“ He did not mention her name to me. I suppose 
it could be easily learned.” 

“ I daresay. Did he mention the cause of his 
divorce ? ” 

“ He did not. We merely touched on the sub¬ 
ject. I had no curiosity concerning the lady. He 
was simply an amusing companion for an evening. 
That’s all I know of Mr. Hugh Curran.” 

“ And you know nothing more of him, Mr. 
Knox?” 

“ Nothing whatever, and I wish I knew less! I 
did not like him at all. I thought him egoistical and 
unduly familiar.” 

“Oh, come, now, Ned,” Angel put in; “don’t 
show off your asinine jealousy just now. Curran 
was all right,—an all-round good sort. We all 
know why you don’t cotton to him, but don’t lug 
it into your testimony.” 


THE MEREDITH STORY 


83 


“ I have no testimony to give,” Knox said, sul¬ 
lenly. “ I know nothing at all of the matter, and 
I want to know nothing. I hope, with Mr. Loft, 
you will arrange to remove the remains as soon as 
you can do so.” 

“ That will be attended to as quickly as possible,” 
Doctor Gilvray assured him, and the sapient Exam¬ 
iner smiled to himself at this exhibition of mari¬ 
tal jealousy. 

But indeed, Anna not infrequently gave her 
faithful and devoted husband a bad quarter of an 
hour because of her various coquetries. 


CHAPTER V. 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 

It was a wearisome grilling, and it got them 
nowhere. 

Detective Kinney was logical and consequent in 
his questionings and Doctor Gilvray was keen and 
shrewd in his comments and deductions, but when 
it was over nobody seemed to know anything save 
that Hugh Curran was dead. 

Some held the opinion that he had commited sui¬ 
cide, others that he was murdered, but most of the 
listeners to the scanty evidence were utterly at sea 
as to any satisfactory conclusion. 

“ It is the old problem, after all,” said Roly Mears, 
his round, jolly face unusually grave. “ An inex¬ 
plicable death in an unenterable room. What’s the 
answer? ” 

“ Ned,” Loft said, suddenly, “ you said these 
Sealed Room detective stories bored you to death 
because they were so easy'of solution.” 

“ No, Val, I didn’t quite say that. I said they 

bored me because I’d read so many, and the solu- 

84 


85 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 

tion was rarely a satisfying one. However, here’s 
a real problem of that sort right under our noses. 
It’ll be queer if we can’t, some of us, dope it out.” 

“ I say so, too,” cried Roly. “ Let’s do the detec¬ 
tive v/ork ourselves,—under Mr. Kinney’s supervi¬ 
sion, of course.” 

He added the last phrase because of a somewhat 
indignant expression on the detective’s face. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” said Angel, “ let’s organize 
a detective squad of our own,—us four, you know,— 
Val, Ned, Roly and myself, and work independently 
of Mr. Kinney, but reporting to him any findings or 
conclusions that we consider worth while.” 

Kinney looked rather patronizing, but nodded his 
head indulgently. “ I’ll be glad of any help,” he 
said, sincerely, but didn’t add his secret thought, 
which was that precious little help was likely to reach 
him from the quartette of amateur detectives. 

“ And remember this,” said the Countess, in her 
acid way, “ you men were all discussing the ease and 
grace of certain methods of assassination,—suppose 
one of you should turn out to be the criminal.” 

“ Such jesting is very ill-timed, Countess,” Anna 
flared out, “ you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” 


86 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

“ Perhaps she isn’t jesting,” said Pauline, slowly. 

“ Then she ought to be even more ashamed of 
herself! ” Anna declared. “ Anyway, Pm going to 
help in this detective business,—I’ve the instinct, or 
whatever you call it, myself. I can deduce,—and 
all that.” 

“ So can I,” said Stella. “ And I have psychic 
powers—” 

“We don’t want those,” said Knox. “ Deliver 
me from spook messages about a mystery. They 
only make matters worse.” 

“ I want nothing to do with it,” Pauline said, 
decidedly. “ And I wish you men wouldn’t take it 
up. You’ll only get notoriety and horrid publicity 
without accomplishing anything. What can you do, 
more than professional detectives can? ” 

“ Oh, lots,” Roly Mears assured her. “ Why, it’s 
a chance of a lifetime. You see, while we’re all 
sorry for the poor chap, yet it isn’t the grief we 
would feel for a more personal friend,—and, so, 
we’re free to follow up clues and evidences, no mat¬ 
ter where they lead. Now, here’s my platform. The 
death of Hugh Curran was not a natural death, nor 
an accidental one, either. The doctor vouches for 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


87 


that. The man was either killed by another or he 
killed himself. To my mind, the suicide theory is 
out of the question, for the simple reason that no 
container of the poison can be found.” 

“ Has been found,” corrected Angel. “ Perhaps 
it will yet be discovered.” 

“ We haven’t searched Curran’s room yet,” said 
Roly. “ I mean searched it carefully,—for clues, 
you know.” 

“ Then let’s do it now,” proposed Knox. “ If 
Doctor Gilvray wants to question us more, later, we’ll 
all be here. I’ve no intention of leaving.” 

“ I’d like very much to go,” said Mr. Meredith, 
mildly. “ These unfortunate circumstances are try¬ 
ing to my wife’s nerves, and, I admit, also to my 
own. If nobody objects, we’d like to leave on the 
afternoon train.” 

“ I want you all to do exactly as you please, in 
that matter,” Loft said, courteously. “ Unless the 
authorities wish to hold anybody, let each one feel 
free to carry out his or her own wishes. Pauline, 
dear, do you want to go? ” 

Pauline’s face was a study. She looked pitifully 
at Loft, and seeing his own evident anxiety regarding 


88 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


her decision, she said, after a moment’s pause; “ I’ll 
stay, please. I know, Valentine, you’ll have lots of 
bothers and responsibilities, and perhaps I can share 
them,—or help you in some way.” 

“ You’ll help me just by your presence,” he as¬ 
sured her, and his smile of relief told her how glad he 
was at her decision to stay. 

“ I shall stay,” declared the Countess. “ It all 
interests me exceedingly, and I want to see how the 
case works out.” 

“ I want to go,” Anna said, “ and I want to go 
quick. Ned, can’t we get off this afternoon, when 
the Merediths go ? ” 

“ I think not,” said Knox, with so positive an air 
that Anna began to pout. She well knew that when 
her husband’s face assumed that look of absolute 
finality, all her pleas and prayers were of no avail. 

Almost always she wound her easy-going husband 
round her finger, but when he was determined on 
any subject, it was not in her power to move him. 

“ Moreover, Anna,” the Countess said, “ I doubt 
if any of these men would be allowed to leave the 
place until the mystery is cleared up. You seem to 
forget that if Mr. Curran was murdered, it must 
have been by someone in the house—” 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


89 


“ Nonsense, Countess! ” Loft exclaimed, “ if you 
talk like that, I’ll send you away.” 

“ Perhaps the Countess herself is the criminal,” 
said Anna, spitefully. “ For all we know, she has 
known Mr. Curran before. And the veiled woman 
that Mr. Meredith saw has yet to be identified.” 

“ I didn’t say veiled,” Mr. Meredith put in, 
mildly. 

“ Well, shawled, scarfed,—whatever she was,” 
Anna cried. “ Anyway, she must be named, before 
we can go much further.” 

“We!” said her husband. “Are you too help¬ 
ing in the detective work? ” 

“If you are, Ned. I will take it on myself to 
hunt out that woman, if you like.” 

“ Oh, Anna,” said Pauline, greatly distressed, 
“ don’t mix up in these awful matters. It’s bad 
enough to have the men do it, but let us women keep 
out of it!” 

“ I shan’t keep out of it,” said Stella, decidedly. 
“ I shall stay, of course, and I know I can help some. 
You’ll all be glad of my assistance before you’re 
through.” 

“ Perhaps you can dream who that woman was,” 
Anna suggested. 


90 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Perhaps I can,” and Stella looked or tried to 
look mystical. “ I can sometimes summon dreams 
that are revelations.” 

“ Never mind that part of it,” said Mears, im¬ 
patiently. “ It seems you’re all going to stay except 
the Merediths. But you women must keep out of 
the actual investigations. If I take the lead in this 
thing—” 

“ Who asked you to? ” cried Angel. 

“ Since I am taking the lead in this thing,” 
Mears went on, “ I propose that we first go and take 
a look at the room. I’m sure that we must find 
among Curran’s belongings some hint or clue to the 
whole matter.” 

“ It’s a little unusual to have a band of amateur 
detectives working with the officers of the law,” said 
Doctor Gilvray, slowly, “ but in this very strange 
case, I’m not sure but it’s a good thing. You men 
are shrewd and keen,—you may discover some impor¬ 
tant evidence. I hope, Kinney, you will raise no 
objections.” 

“ Not a bit, sir. I’m quite ready to accept any 
help they can give me. But I must reserve the right 
to pass on their findings, whether material evidence 
or deductions.” 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


91 


“ All right, old top,” Mears said, “ we agree to 
that. It’s much better to work in harmony than to 
be pitted against you.” 

The body of Hugh Curran had been removed to 
the establishment of the local undertaker, and an 
autopsy had been held. 

The final report of this was brought to Doctor 
Gilvray, and he read it to himself before announc¬ 
ing its contents. 

“ It’s a bit strange,” he said at last. “ The 
death of Mr. Curran was positively due to hydro¬ 
cyanic acid,—which, as you doubtless know, is Prus¬ 
sic acid,—a deadly poison. This was administered 
through the mouth, as the odor was distinct and 
unmistakable. But no traces are found in the 
stomach.” 

“ Yet the poison must have been swallowed to 
produce death ? ” said Knox interrogatively. 

“ Probably,—yet not quite necessarily. How¬ 
ever, I can’t conceive of a circumstance which would 
imply the poison in his mouth and not in his stomach, 
unless he ejected it at once. And there is no evidence 
of that.” 

“ Look here, doctor,” Mears said; “ reconstruct 


02 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


the case. I hold suicide impossible, because that poi¬ 
son must have been a powder, in a paper, or, a liquid, 
in a vial. Isn’t that true? ” 

“ Yes,” said Gilvray, briefly. 

“ Then as we find no paper and no vial, it must 
have been administered by someone else. It must 
have been done purposely. Therefore it was murder. 
There is no alternative. As to how the murderer 
left the room locked behind him,—that is the pro¬ 
blem we must solve. And no matter how difficult, 
it will be easier than to prove a suicide with no con¬ 
tainer to be found.” 

“ Sounds plausible, Roly,” Angel said, his blue 
eyes staring into vacancy, as they always did when 
his imagination was working. “ But you’ve neg¬ 
lected one theory. Suppose Curran did take the poi¬ 
son himself, and suppose there was someone in his 
room later, who removed the bottle or the paper.” 

“ Why would he? ” said Mears, thinking hard. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure. Only, if a murderer 
could get out, leaving the door locked behind him, 
so could a man who was not the murderer.” 

“ That’s surely true, Angel, but I can’t see any 
reason for it.” 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


93 


“ We can’t see any reason for the murder,—or 
the suicide, or whatever it is,” Loft said; “ But, to 
my mind, we can investigate just the same before 
we know which it is,—and so perhaps discover which 
it is. Though, first of all, I think we must find out 
about Curran’s people.” 

“ You don’t have to do that, Val; the police are 
taking charge of it all.” It was Pauline who spoke, 
and her voice was infinitely gentle, as if glad to 
relieve Loft of any responsibilities. 

“ Yes,” Kinney told them, “ we are making wide 
inquiries. We’ve sent a man down to New York to 
look through Curran’s rooms at the hotel where 
he lived.” 

“ What about the Country Club up here? ” Knox 
asked. “ Is he a member, or who put him up? ” 

“ No, he wasn’t a member,” Kinney said; “ and 
he had letters from John Bingham and Augustus 
Hedden,—each putting him up for two weeks. It’s 
all right that way, but Mr. Bingham and Mr. Hedden 
are both in Europe, and we can’t get in touch with 
them immediately. However, we’ve no reason to 
think of Mr. Curran other than as a first class and 
right minded gentleman. I’ve sent another officer to 


94 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


his publishers in New York. We’ll soon learn all 
about Mr. Curran’s circumstances and relatives. And 
of course that knowledge may give us a line on the 
criminal. But, so far, we’ve not the ghost of a sus¬ 
picion of the motive behind the crime.” 

“ That’s what makes it interesting,” insisted 
Mears. “ And there are queer things about it. For 
instance, where’s Curran’s watch?” 

“Did he have one?” asked Doctor Gilvray. 
“ There was none on his watch fob when I looked 
him over.” 

“ He had one on last night,” Stella informed 
them. “ I saw him take it out and look at it twice 
during the evening.” 

“ So did I,” said Bob. “ It was a very thin gold 
one, on a fob. He had it in his trousers pocket.” 

“ Yes, I noticed it,” the Countess offered. “ I 
saw him open it, too. There was a picture in the 
case,—a woman.” 

“ Could you see it? ” asked Angel. 

“ Not to recognize it,” the Countess replied. “ I 
only caught a glimpse of a woman’s face.” 

“And that watch is gone?” cried Kinney. 
“ Then that’s a clue in itself! The woman took it!” 

“ What woman? ” 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


95 


“ The one Mr. Meredith saw going into Curran’s 
room.” 

“And she killed him?” asked Stella, her eyes 
large and bright with interest. 

“ Now, look here,” said Mears, “ you’re going 
too fast. That watch may be in his room. He may 
have taken it from his pocket—” 

“ Then he left the fob in its place,” said the doc¬ 
tor. “ For I took his valuables myself, and gave 
them over to Kinney. There was a fob, and three 
pearl studs and a collar button,—real gold,—and 
cuff-links.” 

“ Anything else in his pockets? ” asked Loft. 

“ Only a couple of handkerchiefs and a bunch of 
keys,—a very small bunch. Oh, yes, a short lead 
pencil, and a card or two,—of no evidential impor¬ 
tance.” 

“ Evidential importance is a serious thing,” said 
Mears, didactically. “ You can’t always recognize 
it at first. Come on, I’m impatient to examine that 
room. Now, Kinney you may come, and we four 
men,—that’s all. You women cannot! ” 

This last was emphatic, because Anna and the 
Countess had risen quickly from their chairs with 
every indication of joining the party. 


96 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Anna pouted and the Countess stormed, but to 
no avail. They were not allowed to have their way, 
and the five men went off together. 

The room had not been disturbed in any way. 
Save for the absence of the still, stark body they 
had seen in the easy chair, everything was the same 
as they had seen it at the time of the forced entrance. 

“ Don’t touch things, boys,” begged Mears. 
“ Let’s work together and systematically. First, we 
know Curran had not begun to prepare for bed. He 
had apparently sat down in his chair for a time. He 
had not smoked, though.” 

“ Why, Roly, see the cigar ashes on the floor!” 
and Loft pointed down. 

“ Those he scattered before dinner,” said Mears, 
imperturbably. “ You see, the ash trays on the table 
at his side are clean and empty. I know the cham¬ 
bermaid cleans those when she turns down the bed, 
I can tell from my own room. And there are no 
burnt matches, no stubs of cigars or cigarettes. So, 
I know those few ashes on the floor were strewn 
there in the afternoon. Curran was an untidy sort, 
and I daresay the maid wasn’t overparticular,—or, 
she failed to notice the ashes. Anyway, I am sure 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


97 


he didn’t smoke after he came to his room last night. 
What did he smoke ? ” 

This was all self-evident, for had he smoked there 
must have been a stub or a match in evidence. 

Kinney looked at Mears with growing respect, 
and awaited his next words. 

“ Now, there’s that little basket of nuts.” Roly 
stared hard at a small filigree silver basket on the 
table. It was half full of salted almonds. “ Where 
did that come from? ” 

“ That was on the dinner table,” Loft said, 
promptly. “ I suppose after dinner, it was on the 
sideboard,—Binns would put it there,—and perhaps 
Curran was fond of nuts and brought it upstairs with 
him.” 

“ Wrong,” said Angel, looking a little amused. 
“ I brought it up to him. As we all started upstairs, 
I asked Curran if he wanted anything. And he said, 
* I’m ravenous for some of those salted nuts we 
had at dinner ’ So I went to the dining room, cor¬ 
ralled the basket and brought it up here to him.” 

“ Then you were in this room with him? ” said 
Kinney. 

“ Yes, stayed fifteen or twenty minutes. He got 


7 


98 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


started on old books, and he would have talked on 
forever, but I was sleepy, so I told him I’d discuss 
the things in the morning.” 

“ Describe the whole interview,” said Kinney, 
briefly. 

“All right,” said Angel. “I brought up the 
nuts, tapped at the door, and Curran said, ‘ Come in.’ 
So I came in, and Curran closed the door after me.” 

“ Why did he do that? ” 

“ I thought it queer myself at first, but he wanted 
to ask me to get him a special book, and the details 
were rather a private matter.” 

“ Of course,” Mears said. “ Go on, Angel, did 
he like the nuts? ” 

“ Yes, he thanked me, and began eating them. 
But rather absent-mindedly,—as to the nuts, I mean, 
—for he was deeply interested in the book he wanted 
me to get for him.” 

“ What was the book? ” asked Kinney. 

“ It is a rare old book,—a Caxton, dated 1485. 
It is called ‘ A Book of the Noble History of King 
Arthur.’ Here is the catalogue, you may see the 
item.” 

Baldwin picked up a bookdealer’s catalogue from 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 


99 


the table, and opened it at a turned down and well- 
thumbed page. The item was as he had stated it. 

“ Woodcuts!” exclaimed Loft, his eyes glistening 
at the description. “ I say, Angel, get it for me, 
will you? ” 

“ If you like,” said Baldwin, “ and if you want 
to pay for it. It’s worth a mint of money.” 

“ Well, I’ll have to think it over. Go on with 
your story.” 

“ That’s about all,” said Baldwin. “ We talked 
over the book, Mr. Curran was most desirous to have 
it, and I promised to do the best I could about the 
price. Then, though he asked me to stay and have 
a smoke, I didn’t care about it, and I left him and 
went to my room.” 

“ Did he seem in any way excited or nervous? ” 
Kinney inquired. 

“Not a bit nervous. A little excited about the 
book. Collectors are always excited over an impor¬ 
tant purchase.” 

“ And you left him sitting in that chair? ” 

“ I left him sitting almost exactly as he was found 

this morning. When I went out the door, I said 
* don’t rise,’ and he didn’t. I closed the door behind 


100 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


me. He must have risen later, to lock it, but, appar¬ 
ently he returned to the same seat,—even the same 
posture. I have no doubt he pored over the book 
catalogue again.” 

“ At what time was all this, Mr. Baldwin? ” the 
detective asked. 

“ Let me see; we came upstairs shortly after mid¬ 
night. About twelve-fifteen, wasn’t it, Val? ” 

“ About that.” 

“ And I daresay I was in here with Curran half 
an hour, or less. I left him, I judge at about twenty 
minutes or quarter before one.” 

“Was he then wearing his watch? ” 

“ I’ve no idea. If so, he didn’t look at it while 
I was with him.” 

“ He sure was an untidy person,” said Mears, 
glancing about the floor. 

It was strewed with Curran’s belongings as well 
as with worthless trash. Parts of one or two news¬ 
papers had evidently been flung aside after reading, 
and were in various parts of the room. Near the 
desk, Curran had evidently sharpened a lead pencil, 
dropping the chips on the rug. Near the dresser, 
whose top drawer was open, two handkerchiefs, clean 
ones, lay on the floor, and two more on the dresser 


ROLY TAKES THE LEAD 101 

top, while those in the drawer were tossed in a 
rumpled heap. 

“ He went for a handkerchief, and tossed over 
the whole lot to find the one he wanted/’ said Kinney. 

“ Or to find something he had hidden under the 
heap,” Mears suggested. 

The detective stared at him. 

“ You’re uncanny,” he said; “you’re doubtless 
right! Why would he go for a clean handkerchief 
with two in his pockets ? ” 

“ Why, Roly, you’re the real thing in sleuths!” 
Knox exclaimed. “ Go to it, boy! We’ll get at the 
truth yet!” 

“ Will you help, Ned? ” 

“Of course, all I can. What next, Roly? ” 

“ Well, here are all these torn papers on the floor 
near the chair he sat in. I doubt if they mean much, 
even if we could piece them together, for he wouldn’t 
throw around anything of a private nature. How¬ 
ever, I’ll piece ’em out, and see. Hello, among them 
is a toothpick paper,—a printed one. Oh, it’s one 
of the Country Club ones. Probably had it in his 
pocket.” 

“No, he didn’t, smarty!” and Angel smiled at 
Roly’s earnest face. “ I gave it to him. The man 


102 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


had a predilection for toothpicks,—asked Binns for 
one after dinner. Poor Binns nearly threw a fit, 
but he dug up a wooden one. So, knowing Curran’s 
weakness, I offered him a first-class sealed-paper 
Club quill, and he was as pleased as could be. Here’s 
the toothpick itself, on the table.” 

Angel picked it up, gingerly, looked at it as if it 
might be evidence, and said, “ Sherlock Holmes 
would construct a whole man from this.” 

“ We don’t want to construct a man from that,” 
Mears scoffed. “ We want the criminal. Throw 
that away, Angel, it means nothing.” 

Baldwin went over to the waste basket and even 
as the toothpick dropped from his fingers said, 
“ There’s a lot of things in the basket,—better give 
’em the once over, Roly.” 

“ They’ll keep. Mostly book catalogues and 
wrappings off of things. I glanced at ’em. Well, 
we’re not getting much of anywhere, are we? 
Guess I’ll piece out these torn papers, and see what 
comes of it.” 

“ I see Jackson coming,” announced Kinney, 
from the window, “ he’ll have news from the Club 
people. Let’s go down and see him.” 


CHAPTER VI 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 

As the others started for the door, Ned Knox 
touched Mears on the arm and detained him. 

“ Look here, Roly,” he said, “we can’t handle this 
thing with gloves on, you know.” 

“ Meaning?” 

“ That we must look where evidence points,— 
even if it’s to one of ourselves.” 

“ You or me? ” 

“No, I don’t mean that,—but,—oh, well, there’s 
no use mincing matters. Wasn’t Angel the last one 
known to have seen Curran alive? ” 

“ There’s the visiting lady—” 

“ I don’t believe there was one. Old Meredith 
dreamed that,—or made it up.” 

“ Why for?” 

“To create a sensation—” 

“ Not his role. He’s no Thrill Builder. I’m 
banking on that woman.” 

“ Well, anyway, take Angel into consideration. 

103 



104 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


I passed the room while he was in here and I can 
tell you he and Curran were quarrelling.” 

“ Seriously? ” 

“ Very seriously. And it was something about 
a needle.” 

“ A needle ?” 

“ Yes,—it may sound absurd, but they were dis¬ 
cussing a needle. And may it not be that Angel 
introduced the poison by means of a hypodermic 
needle ? ” 

“ I’d laugh at your suggestion, Knox, only it 
does seem as if that might have been the method used. 
The doctors could easily have overlooked the tiny 
scar it would make. And, do you see, a murderer 
using that means, would, if clever enough, touch the 
poison to the dead man’s lips, which would explain 
the odor of acid in his mouth, yet no trace in his 
stomach.” 

Mears looked at Ned Knox, thoughtfully. 

“ You’ve built up a case against Angel. Why? ” 

“ Only because there’s evidence that way,—and 
no other.” Knox returned. 

“ But what motive could Angel possibly have ? 
Curran was a profitable client,- : —I know myself, Bob 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


105 


has made a lot of money off of the books he has sold 
him. Why kill the goose that lays the golden 
eggs?” 

“ Never mind motive, until you get your man.” 

“ No, Ned, never mind the man until you find 
the motive. However, we’ll look into Master Bob’s 
case, and see what we can discover.” 

“ There ought to be clues in this room,—more, I 
mean than we’ve found.” 

“ There certainly are enough ‘ feathers left 
around,’ ” and Roly smiled at the littered floor. 

“ Come on,” called Kinney impatiently from the 
hall. “ I’m waiting to lock the door.” 

They accompanied the detective downstairs, 
where Jackson waited with his report. 

“ I found out quite a lot about Mr. Curran,” 
Jackson began, “ yet none of it seems to amount to 
much. He was born in Indiana, but lived most of 
his later life in California. For the past two years 
he has been a writer, but for about six years before 
that, he was a Movie actor.” 

“ Not an Adonis!” observed Mears. 

“No; he played character parts. They say he 
was fine as an old man. Well, he gave up the Pic- 


106 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


tures for a literary life, and made an immediate hit 
with his detective stories. He has only been writing 
them two years, but he has done three or four that 
have come well up towards the Best Sellers line.” 

“ What was his real name? ” Kinney asked. 

“ The Movie People didn’t seem to know,— 
Dyer or Dwyer, they said. But I went to his New 
York publishers, and they told me it was Hugh 
Dwyer.” 

“ Why did he adopt another? ” 

“ The publisher said, that as he was not sure his 
first book would be a success, he chose a nom de 
plume. Then, when the book proved popular, he 
retained the name of Curran.” 

“ Plausible enough,—no harm in all that.” 

“No; then I went to one or two clubs he belonged 
to, and all gave him a clean record, yet no one knew 
much about him definitely.” 

“ What do you mean, definitely? ” 

“ I mean as to his ancestry, or relatives. I can’t 
find that he has any kin whatever. Still, Pve only 
just learned the name of Dwyer, so I may trace by 
that. I’ve been working on the Curran name.” 

“ You’ll have to wire the California people—” 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


107 


“ I can’t find any California people. The M. P. 
Company he was with, failed and disbanded over a 
year ago, and it’s next to impossible to learn any 
facts from Movie people anyway. They are the 
most elusive, evasive folks in the world. Oh, I’ll 
track down Hugh Dwyer, but it’ll take some work to 
do it.” 

“ Was he a married man? ” 

“ Divorced. I found that out, but nobody knows 
when or why or from whom.” 

“ The records would show all that.” 

“Yes, but what records? You can’t comb the 
whole United States.” 

“ Well, stick to it, Jackson. Had he no chums 
in New York? No intimate friends at the Clubs? 
No women friends? And he had no servants? No 
man ? Surely he wasn’t absolutely alone!” 

“ He seems to have been, Mr. Kinney. Pie lived 
at the Grampian Annex and while they give him A-i 
rating, they know nothing of his private life. The 
manager told me Mr. Curran often had ladies to 
dine or lunch with him, and sometimes small parties, 
but everything was always decorous and correct. In 
fact, he was just a decent man about town, who kept 


108 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


his own counsel and made a confidant of nobody. 
At least, that’s all I’ve got so far. He was fond of 
the ladies, but I heard no breath of scandal or un¬ 
pleasant rumor anywhere.” 

“ Exemplary chap,” said Mears. “ But the 
hardest sort to tackle. However, it’s interesting to 
crack a tough nut like that. I’ll bet I can find out a 
lot about him,—and without leaving this house.” 

“ Go ahead, Roly,” Loft said; “ I want to find 
his folks, he must have some. I feel a certain re¬ 
sponsibility, since he died in my house. And I want 
somebody to shift that responsibility onto.” 

“ I don’t blame you! ” said Angel. “ It’s a horrid 
situation. If no one turns up, shall you bury him, 
Val? ” 

“ Have to, I suppose. Or let the Funeral Com¬ 
pany take charge of the whole affair.” 

“ Don’t worry, Mr. Loft,” said Kinney. “ The 
Law will dictate about the obsequies and all that.” 

“ All right,” Loft said, and he sighed wearily. 
“And I’d be obliged if the Law would clear up the 
matter, and find the criminal,—if any,—and free me 
and my friends from this exceedingly unpleasant 
pall of suspicion that overhangs the house!” 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


109 


“Suspicion!” cried Knox. “Nonsense, Val, 
who is suspected? ” 

“ We all are,” Loft returned, “ The police have 
got hold of that fool conversation we had about 
methods of murder, and the ease with which it could 
be committed, and they think some one of us is re¬ 
sponsible for the taking off of Hugh Curran.” 

“ What rubbish!” Angel spoke lightly, but Mears 
and Ned Knox watched him closely. 

“ It may be rubbish,” said Kinney, stolidly, “but 
if there’s only one way to look, we have to look that 
way. And who can see any way to look for a mur¬ 
derer outside this house? ” 

“ But, man, the room door was locked,” Mears 
exclaimed, still watching Bob. “ How could one of 
us manage that? ” 

“ The windows were fastened,” Kinney retorted. 
“ How could an outsider manage that? ” 

“ The windows were open a little, at top and bot¬ 
tom,” Bob said, slowly. 

“ Yes, sir, but only six-inch apertures, and patent 
catches held them immovable. I’ve investigated all 
that, and nobody could possibly have entered from 
outside.” 


110 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ There’s a balcony beneath the windows,” said 
Loft, meditatively. “ It runs all along that side 
of the house.” 

“Yes, I know,” Kinney agreed, “ and anybody 
could have walked along there. Anybody could even 
have shot through the six inch opening,—but no 
intruder could poison a man that way.” 

“ Righto,” said Mears, “ I saw all that. And 
the bathroom window is small and high and practi¬ 
cally inaccessible.” 

“ Positively inaccessible,” corrected Kinney. 
“ It’s twenty feet from the ground, and no window 
near enough to climb across from. And if anyone 
had used a ladder, marks would show on the white 
paint outside. It is entirely unmarred.” 

“ That window’s too small to crawl through, any¬ 
way,” Loft said. “ And, another thing, the night 
watchman patrols this place thoroughly. No one 
could go up a ladder, and remain even a few minutes, 
and return by the ladder without being discovered by 
lynx-eyed old Gideon. No, cut out all thought of 
an outside entrance. But that doesn’t preclude an 
outsider,—I mean someone not of our own house¬ 
hold. An intruder could, I daresay, have entered 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


111 


the house during the day, and concealed himself 
until the time was ripe.” 

“ Yes, that must have been the way of it,” Knox 
argued. “ We don’t know how he got in and out 
of Curran’s room, but he did,—so there must have 
been some way. I think the absence of Curran’s 
watch proves a robber.” 

“ Why did the robber leave all the other jewelry, 
then? ” asked Bob, but Knox had no ready reply. 

“ I’m going to talk with some of your servants, 
Mr. Loft,” Kinney informed him. “ I think I’ll get 
better results that way, than by having them up here.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” volunteered Angel Bob. “ I 
want to get a line on the servants’ yarns.” 

“ Nobody else, then,” decreed Kinney, as Knox 
rose, too. “ I don’t want a posse.” 

Bob and the detective went to the pleasant sit¬ 
ting room that was provided for the servants’ use, 
and summoned the principal ones to conference. 
They called them singly, and after the non-committal 
testimony of the butler, the second man, the cook, 
and one or two maids, they felt disheartened and 
hopeless of gaining any information. 

But a giddy, flippant little parlor maid gave them 
a hint of one stone left unturned. 


112 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ I do know sumpthing,” she said, with a toss 
of her marvellous curly head; “but I’m not sure I 
ought to tell it.” 

“You not only ought to, but you must tell it!” 

Kinney said, sternly; “ out with it, now!” 

But this made the little minx turn stubborn, and 

utterly unafraid of the Arm of the Law, she made 
a face at the detective and pouted mutinously. 

Angel laughed outright at this picture of dignity 
and impudence, for Kinney’s dignity was so offended 
as to make him look like a collapsing balloon, and the 
girl’s pretty face was roguish and stubborn, both 
at once. 

He came to the rescue with his inimitable tact and 
irresistible charm. 

“ Now, Rose,—your name is Rose, isn’t it?” 

“ No, sir, it’s Violet.” 

“ Prettier yet. Now, then, Violet, you’re to tell 
all you know,—or you’ll be an exceedingly sorry little 
Violet. Take it from me, my dear,—if you hold 
back this information another minute, you’ll be—put 
in the lockup! ” 

Bob breathed the last three words in a menacing 
whisper, with a sudden change from a smiling face 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


113 


to a lowering, threatening countenance, and so effec¬ 
tive was his manner that Violet jumped in sudden 
terror. 

“ Yes/' Bob rubbed it in, “ in the lockup,—the 
jail! No place for pretty little girls,—all stone 
walls, and bread and water, and—rats.” 

A shriek from the frightened Violet told of her 
surrender, and with a return of his suavity, Bob said: 
“ Out with it now,—my dear. Tell the story you're 
holding back. Does it implicate somebody else ? ” 

“ Yes,—that's it, sir. She'll kill me!” 

“ Oh, no, she won’t. Hurry up, Violet, the lock¬ 
up yawns for you!” 

“ Well,” she looked fearfully at both men, but 
started in on the tale : 

“It was Tessie. She—she went out last even¬ 

ing—” 

“ Was it her evening out? ” 

“ Oh, yes, sir. But we’re ordered to be in by 
eleven o'clock at the latest,—ten, unless we’ve ar¬ 
ranged about it beforehand. Well,—Tessie,— 
she—” 

“ Get on,” said Kinney, impatiently, “ Tessie 
overstaid her time. How late was she? ” 

“ Oh,—she—it was after one o’clock! ” 


8 


114 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ My, my, that is shocking!” Bob exclaimed. 
“ It’s as much as her place is worth! ” 

“ Indeed it is,” Violet agreed. 

“ Get on,” growled Kinney. “ What did she 
see? ” 

“ She was so late, she crept in under the side 
gate,—a slim girl can just do it,—and then she 
watched when Gideon was out of the way, to run 
into the cellar door,—the one Gideon uses, and she 
knew she could get in. So, while she was waiting for 
the old man to get around to the other side of the 
house, she was looking about, and up on the bal¬ 
cony,—outside the room Mr. Curran had, she saw 
two people. They were Mr. Curran and a lady.” 

“ Who was the lady? ” Kinney shot out. 

“ Mrs. Knox,” Violet said, frightened into an 
immediate reply by Kinney’s scowl. 

Angel gave a short, low whistle. 

“ Violet,” he said, “ if you ever tell that to 
another soul, I’ll kill you,—do you hear? Yes, I 
can do it. I didn’t kill Mr. Curran, but I could kill 
a person if I wanted to, and so sure as you breathe 
that to any one, I’ll kill you! See? ” 

“Yes, sir,” murmured Violet, trembling. “I 
won’t tell, if you won’t tell on me! ” 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


115 


“That your friend was out late? No, I won’t 
tell that.” 

“ Think a minute, Mr. Baldwin,” and Kinney 
looked at him patronizingly, “ this isn’t this girl’s 
secret. It was Tessie who saw the lady, Tessie who 
told Violet of it,—and who has probably told all 
the rest of the servants by this time.” 

“ Yes, I think she has,” said Violet, casually. 

Angel swore softly to himself. He was decidedly 
interested in the pretty, vixenish Anna, and of all 
people, he hated to have her name brought into this 
horrible affair. 

“ Of course,” he said, after a pause, “ Mrs. Knox 
had no hand in the tragedy, she knows nothing of 
the crime,—if there was a crime,—so, Kinney, can’t 
we suppress this bit of gossip? I can square the 
servants, if you’ll promise not to use the story at all.” 

“ Can’t do that, Mr. Baldwin. But, if, as you 
say, Mrs. Knox is not implicated in the case, it can 
do her no great harm to have it known that she 
strolled on the balcony in the moonlight at one 
o’clock. That’s not a very late hour.” 

“ N-no,—but that isn’t the point. I happen to 
know that the Knoxes went to their rooms shortly 


116 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

after twelve. If Mrs. Knox left her room again,— 
oh, pshaw,—let’s forget it.” 

“ I see; if she left her room again,—it was with¬ 
out the knowledge of her husband,—they had sepa¬ 
rate rooms ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Bob, sullenly. 

“ Adjoining? ” 

“ Bath between.” 

“ Oh, ho! So, the lady could leave,—her room 
gives onto the balcony? ” 

“ I won’t tell you any more. You’re building 
up a scandal out of what you said yourself was 
merely an innocent moonlight stroll. I refuse to help 
you drag a lovely lady into this unpleasant affair.” 

“ Oh, I don’t need your help. Run along, Violet, 
you’ve done your duty. Always tell all you know, 
when the Law demands it. Run away, now.” 

Violet went away, and her attitude was rather 
that of an important witness, than of one who had 
testified against her will. 

Without another word to the furious Angel, 
Kinney went in search of Tessie. With a few de¬ 
cisive commands, in the name of the Law, he reduced 
her to a state of abject obedience. 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 


117 


She told the story, much as Violet had related 
it, but she went into a mass of elaborate detail,— 
so elaborate, that Kinney suspected a vivid imagina¬ 
tion, in good working order. 

“ Yes, sir,” Tessie said, rolling her eyes, as if 
enjoying her part, “ yes, sir, it was Mrs. Knox,—I 
know her well. She had on a bee-yooutiful 
gown,—dressing-gown,—what they call negglegy, 
you know.” 

“ You could discern that? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I could see the lace ruffles, and the 
teeny-weeny rosebuds on it. All ribbony, and chif- 
fony and floaty about.” 

Tessie’s expressive hands waved in illustration 
of floating draperies, and so realistic was she, that 
Kinney felt she must have seen what she described. 

“They walked up and down the balcony?” 

“ No,—that is they did for a minute, then they 
sat on the balcony rail and looked at the moon. 
They sat mighty close together, too.” 

Again the rolling eyes betokened a deep interest 
and appreciation. Clearly, Tessie was romantic 
by nature. 

“ And then? ” 


118 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Then, Gideon got out of the way, and I skittled 
into the house, through his area door, and hustled 
up to my own room. So that’s all I know about 
those two.” 

Bob Baldwin went back to the library, where the 
men of the house were assembled. 

All except Knox, who wasn’t there, and his 
absence gave Bob an opportunity to speak of what 
was in his mind. 

“ I say, fellows,” he began, “ it’s up to all of 
us to speak out frankly. I admit that when we all 
boasted how easy it would be to kill a man, and then 
when one is killed right here among us,—I admit, it 
looks queer for us all, and it ought to be understood 
that if there’s anything—anything at all against any 
of us, it is to be spoken of and thrashed out.” 

“ Right, Angel,” Mears said, “ and as a starter, 
I’ll tell that you have been hinted at.” 

‘‘By whom?” and Bob’s question was serious. 

“ Well, since we’re all to speak out in meetin’,— 
by Ned Knox.” 

Angel sighed and looked grave. 

“As he is the one I want to speak about, per¬ 
haps our stories will dovetail.” 

And then, to his friends and cronies, Valentine 


WHAT TESSIE SAW 119 

Loft and Roly Mears, Bob told the story of Tessie’s 
observations, as retailed by Violet. 

“ I knew Anna was making a dead set for him, 
Loft said, moodily. “ What a flirt she is! She 
didn’t care two cents for Curran, really, he was just 

a new man for her wiles to work on. She is a vain 
little featherhead—” 

“ Hold, there, Loft,—I’m fond of Anna,” Bob 
said with utter frankness. “ Don’t treat her rough.” 

“All right, Angel. But, seriously, if the maid’s 
story is true, and why should we doubt it, then Anna 
did sneak out to the balcony,—probably after Ned 
was snoring,—and had her clandestine flirtation 
with Curran. Now, if Ned awoke, trailed her, and 
discovered them,—it would—he would kill Curran 
quicker’n a wink.” 

Kinney had entered, and heard this last 
statement. 

The detective told the men such further details 
as he had learned from Tessie, which, of course, 
was the information that Anna was en negligee, and 
that the two miscreants sat close together on the 
balcony rail. 

“ Not hard to believe of Anna,” Mears declared, 

“ nor of Curran, either. And no harm done, except 
in view of later developments. But suppose Ned did 


120 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


do the irate husband act, how did he get that deadly 
poison, how did he get in and out of Curran s room, 
and why did he take Curran’s watch? ” 

“ I know! ” cried Roly. “ It was Anna’s picture 
in the back of the watch! ” 

“Nonsense! Anna met Curran for the first 
time, last evening.” 

“ Anna’s cute enough to pretend anything.” This 
from Loft. “ That woman’s a—forgive me, Angel, 
—but she is as sly and cunning as they come. I 
can’t puzzle out the ways and means,—but there’s 
that difficulty with any theory or assumption. Also, 
I won’t even think wrong of Ned Knox, until he 
has a chance to speak for himself, but I do say this 
must be looked into.” 

“ I think the worst against Knox,” Roly put in, 
“ is the way he tried to implicate Angel to me. He 
hinted at Bob’s being the murderer,—because, for¬ 
sooth, he heard Bob and Curran quarreling over 
something in Curran’s room.” 

“ That was at half-past twelve,” said Bob, “ and 
after one, Tessie saw Curran, evidently very 
much alive.” 

“ But it was a good tack for Knox to take, 
to divert suspicion from himself,” Roly said, 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 

“ But you see, Pauline, darling, Ned Knox is 
impulsive, belligerent and pig-headed. If he found 
Anna out on the balcony flirting with Curran, he 
would kill him just as soon as he could manage it! ” 
“ But how could he manage it? ” 

“ Somebody managed it. You remember, when 
we talked about murder, Knox said shooting was 
his choice. But, he had no gun, so he had to resort 
to poison.” 

“ Where could he get it? ” 

“ Well, there’s one way,” Loft said, slowly. 
“ Angel has an elaborate photographic outfit in my 
den. He has poisons there that he uses in 
his work—” 

“ Why has Bob an outfit of that sort? ” 

“ He’s an amateur photographer. He doesn’t 
say much about it, because everybody is after him 
to take a photograph. And, too, he has to photo¬ 
graph title pages or something, in connection with 
his book business. In the New York Public Library, 

they have a whole room for the purpose of photo- 

121 


122 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


graphing pages of rare books for people who want 
them. Bob does this in a limited way. You know, 
Pauline, he is an artist in this rare book business. 
He’s no amateur.” 

“ All right. Then, say Ned did get poison from 
Bob’s laboratory or whatever you call it, how’d he 
get it to Mr. Curran? ” 

“ He could get to him easily enough. I suppose 
Curran would let him in, if he came to his room 
later. But, the thing is, how did he get out and leave 
the door locked behind him? ” 

Pauline looked deeply thoughtful. Her beauti¬ 
ful eyebrows came closer together as she concen¬ 
trated on the problem. Her long, slim hands, clasped 
in her lap, seemed to tremble with the intensity of 
her mental effort. 

At last, she gave a shrug, as if to throw aside a 
consideration, and said, “ But, Val, that problem 
confronts every theory. Why don’t you leave that 
until you get other data, pointing toward the mur¬ 
derer,—or the motive?” 

“ You’re right, Pauline, and I’m glad to see it 
so clearly. Now looking at it that way, Ned had 
motive,—you know his insane jealousy of Anna,— 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


123 


also, he had opportunity,—for after two o’clock, 
nobody was awake or listening—” 

“ Except Mr. Meredith.” ‘ 

“ Oh, old Pop Meredith doesn’t count. Neither 
does Stella. They’re both deluded by their sub¬ 
conscious dreams and vagaries.” 

“ Yes, I think that, too. Well, Val, go on. 
Did Ned take Mr. Curran’s watch?” 

“ Surely. It had Anna’s picture in it.” 

“ Then you think Anna knew Mr. Curran be¬ 
fore yesterday? ” 

“Of course she did. Anna is a flirt, but no 
woman would progress so fast as to arrange a clan¬ 
destine meeting with an utter stranger, the first 
time she saw him! ” 

“ Yes,—that’s so. And so late,—and in her 
boudoir gown—it was that,—I know the rosebudded 
affair Tessie described.” 

“ Well, there you are. Lord knows I hate to 
suspect Ned Knox,—but evidence is against him. 
And, too, he tried to implicate Angel,—to my mind, 
that’s against him, too.” 

“ Yes, I suppose it is. But, Val, dear, must you 
—prosecute, or whatever you call it? Can’t you 
hush it all up? ” 


124 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Don’t see how we can, Pauly. But I will try 
to get it all over as soon as possible. If Ned is 
guilty,—I feel sure he’ll have the decency to clear 
out pretty quick.” 

“ If Ned is a—a murderer,—you can’t expect 
him to have—decency.” 

“Of course you can. His sudden wild impulse, 
and the consequent act of crime, don’t change his 
traits or habits. If Ned Knox proposes leaving 
here,—he wouldn’t be allowed to go,—but it would 
prove to my mind his guilt—” 

“Oh, Valentine, he never did it! He couldn’t 
have done it!” and Pauline clasped her hands and 
shook her head in utter negation of the idea. 

“What are you two talking about?” and the 
Countess sailed majestically toward the pair who sat 
in the swing on the veranda. 

“ About Mr. Curran’s death,” said Pauline, 
calmly. “ What do you think, Countess? ” 

“ I think Ned Knox killed him. Don’t ask me 
how or when or which or what! I don’t know! I 
only know that Ned was insanely jealous of Anna 
and he killed the man who—flirted with her.” 

“ Too easy,” Loft said. “ Give a dog a bad 
name and hang him. But if it’s a human dog, we 
must prove his claim to the bad name.” 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


125 


“ Don’t be too fussy, Val,” the Countess said, 
shortly, “ Ned Knox killed him, and now all you 
have to do is to check up the ways and means.” 

“ Just like a woman! ” said Loft. “ Oh, yes, I 
say so and so is a murderer. Now somebody will 
please prove it.” 

“ But what do you think, Val? ” Pauline asked, 
her eyes on Loft’s face. “ Don’t you think Ned 
did it?” 

“ No, Pauly,—frankly, no, I don’t! ” 

“ Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! ” cried the Countess, “ what 
does it matter who we think did it? The thing must 
be proved—proved! ” 

“ All very well, Countess,” Loft began, but he 
was interrupted by Binns, who announced, “ Miss 
Dwyer is here, sir.” 

“ What? ” “ Who? ” and “ Good Lord! ” his 

hearers exclaimed, simultaneously, and immediately 
followed the butler into the house. 

In a reception room they found a lady, tall, gaunt 
and aggressive. 

At least, those were the qualifications that sprang 
first to Loft’s notice. 

The Countess observed that the visitor was dis- 


126 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


tinctly Middle West as to voice and manner, and 
Pauline noted with shocked realization the tightfit- 
ting black taffeta, “ travelling dress ” the lady wore. 

“ I am Hetty Dwyer,” the strange guest an¬ 
nounced, rising as the others entered. “ I am the 
sister of Hugh Dwyer,—known, perhaps to you as 
Hugh Curran.” 

“ How do you do, Miss Dwyer,” Loft said, at 
once, and most courteously, “ it is good of you 
to come.” 

“ Not at all,” she spoke somewhat acidly, “ I read 
of the death of my brother in the paper, and I hur¬ 
ried here at once.” 

“ It is four days since Hugh Curran died,” Loft 
said, slowly, “ and, Miss Dwyer, he is now—” 

“ Buried? ” she exclaimed, apprehensively. 

“No; his body is in the receiving vault.—at the 
undertaker’s place,” he assured her. “ You may see 
him again,—if you wish.” 

“ Of course I wish,” she cried. “ My only 
brother. My loved Hugh. Certainly I wish to see 
him again, before he is laid away forever.” 

“ Very well, you may,” Loft assured her. “ And 
now, Miss Dwyer, since you are here, I’ve no doubt 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


127 


you can tell us something that may throw light on the 
strange mystery of his death.” 

“ That I’m sure I can’t do,” she said, with 
asperity. 

Miss Dwyer was a tall, angular person, with 
prominent cheek bones, elbows and even knees, which 
indicated themselves inside her scant skirts. She 
was perhaps forty, and old looking for her age. 

She had none of the graces or amenities of 
urban life, rather she showed the awkward, ignorant 
demeanor of a country-bred woman. 

But she was shrewd and keen, and absolutely 
unabashed. 

“ That’s why I am here,” she went on, earnestly. 
“ I want to know who killed my brother. Any idea 
of suicide is utterly ridiculous—” 

“ But, Miss Dwyer,” said Kinney, who was 
present, “ your denunciation of a theory as utterly 
ridiculous, doesn’t make it so.” 

“ It does in this case,” she declared, calmly, “ for 
I know my brother’s circumstances and conditions, 
—and I know he was looking forward to a new 
happiness,—to a new phase of his life, that meant, 
to him, nothing less than bliss.” 

“ And what was that? ” Kinney asked. 


128 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ He was about to be married,” she said, with 
all the awe and wonder in her voice that accompan¬ 
ies a spinster’s dream of wedlock. 

“ Indeed,” Kinney said. “ He had been married 
before, had he not? ” Miss Dwyer’s face changed 
It looked scornful, even infuriated. 

“Yes!” she said, “he had! To an utterly 
worthless woman! A silly, selfish, peevish chit, who 
led him a dance, until—” 

“ Until he got rid of her? ” 

“ Yes, well rid of her! That woman was a mill¬ 
stone round his neck! The happiest day of his life 
was when their bonds were severed.” 

“ You knew her, then? ” Kinney asked. 

“ I never saw her, thank heaven! But I know 
how unworthy of him she was! You see, the whole 
affair,—I mean his meeting her, their engagement, 
their marriage and their divorce, all occurred within 
a year, within eight months,—to be exact, and I 
was abroad for a two-year trip at the time. But 
as soon as I returned, and saw my brother again, I 
realized how fortunate he was to be released 
from her.” 


“ Her name? ” asked Kinney. 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


129 


“ I don’t really know,” Miss Dwyer said. “ He 
called her Rose or Rosalie,—but I don’t think that 
was her real name. Yet it may have been. Her 
surname, I never heard. When I returned, the 
affair was all over, a thing of the past, and I never 
talked to my brother about it.” 

“ It all has no bearing on the present problem,” 
Kinney said slowly, “ unless that wife could have 
been implicated in his murder,—if it is a murder.” 

“ Oh, no, I’m sure she couldn’t have been. As 
I understood matters, she was even more glad to 
get freed from him than he from her. They were 
totally uncongenial, and each wanted separation.” 

“ Doubtless the marriage and divorce are all on 
record,” Kinney observed. 

“ Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Miss Dwyer said. 
“ But I’m sure that woman had nothing to do with 
it. My brother was an adorer of women, and had 
dozens of affairs since his divorce. But, lately, he 
devoted his whole life and soul to one girl,—a Miss 
Fitzgerald, of Chicago. And he expected to marry 
her soon.” 

“ Can we get in touch with the lady? ” Kinney 

asked. 

9 


130 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ I don’t see why not,” Miss Dwyer returned. 
“ Yet, she can’t help you. I know she loved my 
brother,—she would have no hand in his taking 
off. And if she hasn’t come forward in the matter, 
it’s merely because she knows she can be of no help, 
and she would naturally hate the publicity.” 

“ That’s all true enough,” Loft said, thought¬ 
fully ; “ yet, it seems we ought to see or hear from 
Miss Fitzgerald.” 

“ I should think so! ” Kinnev declared. 

Miss Dwyer wore a hat with one stiff, black quill 
feather. When she spoke emphatically, as she 
almost always did, this feather nodded sharply and 
seemed to punctuate her speech. 

It did so now, as she said, 

“ It is absurd to think that an interview with 
Miss Fitzgerald would be of any help in this affair. 
On the contrary, Miss Fitzgerald knows nothing 
about the awful details, and I beg of you leave the 
poor girl in peace. Her grief is hard enough to 
bear without having the agonies and distresses of a 
murder trial on her shoulders as well. Now,, I 
know, that my brother’s death is the work of some 
of you people here. You society people,—frothy, 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


131 


artificial, fashionable puppets, who dance as Fate 
pulls the strings! And, if you have a grudge or a 
fancied grudge against any one, you snuff out his 
life with no conscience or compunction/’ 

“ Miss Dwyer,” Loft spoke seriously, “ I can’t 
allow that statement to stand. We are ‘ society 
people,’ as you use that term, but I assure you we 
are not given to murdering our fellow-men, or to 
accepting the fact of murder, without being shocked 
by it, and striving to bring the criminal to justice. 
I am surprised that you should think otherwise.” 

“ I do think otherwise, and your declaration 
does not move me. I still believe that my brother 
came to his end by foul play of some one whom he 
trusted and deemed his friend. I am here to prove 
or disprove my theory. Mr. Loft, shall I remain 
here, under your roof, or go to some inn or other 
stopping place? ” 

“ I invite you to stay here, Miss Dwyer, as long 
as it pleases you to do so. We are working on the 
mystery ourselves, and you may work with us or 
pursue your independent search, as you choose.” 

Valentine Loft was a perfect host, and his cour¬ 
teous manner and bland speech seemed to affect Miss 
Dwyer pleasantly. 


132 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“Thank you,” she said; “I shall be glad to 
remain here a few days. As you can readily under¬ 
stand, I am so shocked and upset by my brother’s 
death I can scarcely pull myself together. And to 
be here, on the very scene of his death, is—is un¬ 
nerving,—to say the least.” 

Valentine Loft, beneath his urbane exterior was 
a very sharp and keen reasoner. And as he watched 
his newest guest, he doubted her sincerity of grief 
regarding her brother’s death. She was shocked,— 
upset,—even stunned,—but of actual grief or sorrow 
he saw small trace. 

His conclusions were verified, when, a moment 
later, Miss Dwyer began to inquire about her 
brother’s effects. 

“ As I am his only heir,” she said, “ of course 
I am in full possession of all he left,—in property 
or assets. I know little about such matters, but I 
do know that Hugh’s book royalties and Motion 
Picture royalties must amount to a considerable sum, 
—and all of those are naturally mine.” 

“ Naturally,” agreed Kinney. “ There will, I’m 
sure, be no trouble about all that. Now, we want to 
get at the motive for the murder and the identity of 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


133 


the murderer. Can you give us any suggestions, 
Miss Dwyer.” 

“Only what I have already said. I’m sure Hugh’s 
death was due to some acquaintance of his who,— 
well, I can’t help thinking it was because of some 
woman. My brother was capable of sudden and deep 
passions for a woman, and even though he was en¬ 
gaged to Miss Fitzgerald, that would not prevent 
his violent flirtation with another woman, and 
through that he might have been punished by some 
irate husband or fiance.” 

The contrast between the prim, prudish old 
maid, and her sophisticated talk of her brother’s 
amours amused the Countess, who laughed outright. 

“ You’re a true woman,” she said, “ and though 
unmarried, I daresay you’ve had your own little 
affairs,—here and there.” 

“ You mistake me, madam,” Miss Dwyer sat 
bolt upright. “ I am above and beyond all small 
coquetries or intrigues. I loved my brother,—but 
I have never loved any other man, Moreover, I do 
not enjoy the society of men. While, here, I will, 
if you please, confine my associations mostly to the 
women, and from them, or through them, I hope 
to unravel this mystery.” 


134 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


And so there was another sleuth added to the 
corps at Valhalla, and indeed, one, who by virtue 
of her earnest and patient work, went far toward 
the final solution of the mysterious death of 
Hugh Curran. 

The Countess frankly disliked the new comer. 
This was not surprising, for Countess Galaski liked 
few people, and rarely was amiable to a woman. 

So she and Miss Dwyer tacitly agreed to be 
enemies, and each religiously opposed the other’s 
opinions or contradicted the other’s statements. 

“ They’re really funny,” Pauline said to Val. 
“ If the Countess should say two and two make 
four, Miss Dwyer would bring any number of 
authorities to prove it doesn’t.” 

“ Yes, they’re funny,” Loft agreed, “ but I can’t 
like that Miss Dwyer. One reason being, she hates 
me so. I believe she thinks I killed her brother.” 

“ Oh, Val, how could she think that?” 

“ She can think anything,—and the police can, 
too. Kinney has been looking at me askance of late. 
And, Good Lord, Pauline, which way is there to 
look? Here it’s five days since Hugh Curran died 
under my roof, and Pm no nearer a theory of his 
death than we were at first.” 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


135 


“No; but suppose, dear, that it never should 
be discovered, would it matter much? ” 

“ Indeed it would, Pauline. There would 
always be a cloud over this place,—over this house, 
—this home, which I hope will be your home. I 
can’t ask you to accept a home with a cloud over it.” 

“ I don’t mind that, dear. I’d rather the whole 
affair would blow over as quickly as possible,—I 
hate to hear about it,—to think about it—oh, Val, 
let’s go away somewhere until it is all over.” 

“ I wish we might, dearest, but such a thing is 
out of the question. No, we must face the music,— 
I must, anyway. But, dear heart, sometimes I think 
you’d better go away for a time. It is painful 
for you,—” 

“ Don’t you want me here, Val? With you? ” 
“Oh, I do, Sweetheart! I’m thinking only of 
you. Pauline, suppose there should be some im¬ 
portant disclosure soon,—some awful fact about one 
of our guests—” 

“ Anna?” 

“Yes; how did you guess? But there is evi¬ 
dence,—of a sort,—against Anna—” 

“ Valentine, put it out of your mind,—at once! 
Anna is absolutely blameless—” 


136 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“Of the murder,—of course. But she has been 
—she was—indiscreet—” 

“ What did she do? ” 

On a sudden impulse, Loft told Pauline his opin¬ 
ion of the story Tessie had given them. 

She listened attentively, and then said: “I can 
believe all that,—that Anna went out on the balcony 
and met him,—but not that she—” 

“ But Pauline, dear, you don’t understand. The 
theory is that Ned surprised them out there to¬ 
gether, and in his jealous rage, he killed Curran.” 

“ That could be,” Pauline nodded her head 
thoughtfully. “ But I don’t believe it happened. 
Anyway, don’t bank on it,—don’t follow it up, 
will you, Val? ” 

“ It isn’t my doing. Roly is working from that 
angle. He has checked up Anna’s wardrobe, and has 
even found the negligee in question,—with floating 
draperies and tiny pink rosebuds.” 

“ Pshaw, every woman has a negligee answering 
that description,—I have, myself.” 

“ Is that so, Pauline? Is it a usual model? That 
does seem to nullify Roly’s clue.” 

“ Of course it does. And it’s a silly theory, 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


137 


anyway. Where’s Mr. Curran’s watch? Why 
would Ned Knox take that? ” 

“ That’s just the point. Roly thinks Anna’s 
picture was in it.” 

“ Anna’s picture! Ridiculous! ” 

“ Why ridiculous ? That is, assuming Anna 
knew him before.” 

“Nonsense! It was never Anna’s picture.” 

“ I don’t see how you can be so sure.” 

“ Why,—I saw him flash the watch open that 
night, after dinner.” 

“Did he? What for? It was not a hunting 
case. He didn’t have to open it to see the time.” 

“ No.” 

“Tell me, Pauline, what do you mean? How 
did you see the picture? ” 

“ Oh, I didn’t exactly see it, Val, but I did see 
him flash the case open and steal a look at the pic¬ 
ture. I couldn’t see whose likeness it was, but 
I’m sure it was not Anna’s.” 

“ Then dear, if you saw it as distinctly as that, 
you must have been able to distinguish the features. 
Was it any one you knew? ” 

“ No, oh, no. It was—it was the face of a 


138 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


stranger,—a young-looking girl, with a lot of 
curly hair. A pretty face, but one in no way 
distinguished.” 

“ You noted it closely.” 

“ Not intentionally. It meant nothing to me. 
But when it was exposed to my view, though only 
for a few seconds, I really saw it plainly, and I 
remember it.” 

“ You’d know the face if you saw it again? ” 

“ Yes, I’m sure I should. But why so inter¬ 
ested, Val? ” 

“ Only that it’s one of the ‘ feathers left around/ 
I want to know what it means.” 

“ But the watch wasn’t left around.” 

“ I mean the evidence,—the clue of the missing 
watch, is what we have taken to calling a feather,— 
that is a clue.” 

“ Oh, yes, I see. If you could find out who 
that woman’s face was, you think it would help you 
in your discoveries? ” 

“ I do think so. Although it may have been 
the picture of Miss Fitzgerald,—Curran’s fiancee.” 

“ Yes, that might be,” Pauline agreed, but her 
tone was perfunctory, and her gaze faraway,—she 


THE SISTER ARRIVES 


139 


seemed to be utterly preoccupied. “If he was so 
interested in that girl,” she went on, “ why was 
Ned so irate about Anna ? He couldn’t have thought 
Mr. Curran’s admiration of Anna at all serious.” 

“ Ned is a lunatic, when it comes to Anna. I’ve 
seen him flare up and go almost crazy if she so 
much as smiled on a man he disliked. Poor Anna.” 

“ Don’t waste your sympathy on Anna,” said 
Pauline. 


I 


CHAPTER VIII 

LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 

“ It’s all very well,” said Roly Mears, “ for you 
people to stick by one another, and to shield one 
another. But the truth of this thing has got to 
come out. I’m friendly enough with all you men, 
I’m chivalrous enough toward the women, but all 
the same, I’m going to dig into this matter, and I’m 
going to find out who killed Hugh Curran. But 
I’ll say at the start I don’t believe the murderer 
was you, Valentine, or Angel. More, I don’t think 
it was Ned Knox.” 

“ Who do you think it was? ” Loft asked, a trifle 
disinterestedly. He didn’t think much of Roly’s 
powers as a detective and was a little bored with 
his talk. 

“ I think it was somebody we none of us know. 
I think he was concealed in the house somewhere, 
and late that night he went to Curran’s room, and 
Curran let him in.” 

“ Yes,—go on.” 

140 



LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


141 


Then, for reasons of his own he killed Curran,— 
poisoned him,—and made a clever getaway.” 

“Leaving the door locked behind him?” 

“Yes, Val, leaving the door locked behind himv 
We know the door was locked,—we know the mur¬ 
derer must have left it locked behind him,—a dead 
man couldn’t get up and lock it. So accept those 
facts, and then assume any explanation you please 
of the locking of that door. I think it could be done 
with some sort of an implement,—something like a 
skeleton key, that could turn the door key in its 
own lock.” 

“ Have you ever heard of such a thing, Roly? ” 

“No; I’m imagining it. But far more won¬ 
derful and complicated devices are made, and I 
hold that such an implement is not by any 
means impossible.” 

“If that could be done,” said Loft, thought¬ 
fully, “ it eliminates one phase of the mystery. If 
that could be done,—anybody might have done it.” 

“ Only some one versed in the tricks and tools of 
burglary,” corrected Mears. “ Modern burglars 
have very up-to-date contrivances.” 

“ It wasn’t burglary.” 


142 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ No, but it may have been a burglarious en¬ 
trance and exit. And the motive was, of course, 
something connected with Curran’s past or private 
life, of which we know nothing. That’s why, Val, 
I’m so keen to find out the truth. It isn’t so much 
to avenge the poor chap’s death, as to clear all of 
us from suspicion. The police are sure that one of 
our crowd did it. Ned, for choice. But they hold 
that after that fool conversation you chaps put up, 
they must find the murderer among you three. You 
may as well know how positive they are about this. 
They don’t say much to you, but they do to me. 
And that Kinney is the most persistent person. He 
has a dogged stick-to-it-iveness that nothing seems 
to dismay. He’s going to interview Anna today and 
ask her straight out about that balcony business.” 

“ I wish him joy,” Loft said, smiling. “ He’ll 
not get much out of Little Anna! ” 

But in this Loft was mistaken. At that very 
moment Detective Kinney was interviewing Anna 
Knox, and was getting a whole lot of information. 

She had received him in her own boudoir, and 
with an eye to the setting of the stage, she was 
arrayed in a most fetching tea gown and was en- 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


143 


sconced among a pile of soft pillows in the corner 
of a great divan. 

She had chosen her role of confidential inno¬ 
cence, and her first words disarmed Kinney and 
roused all his sympathy. 

“ I’m so glad to see you,” she cooed, raising 
sad, pathetic eyes to his stern accusing countenance. 
“ I’m sure you can help me,—and I’ve no one else 
to look to for assistance.” 

The blue eyes were so trustful, the rose pink 
cheeks so soft, and the red mouth so appealing that 
Kinney did what many better and wiser men had 
done before him, fell for Little Anna utterly. 

From that moment he was her abject slave, he 
could no more have accused her,—even suspected 
her, than he could have his own mother. 

This was in no way his fault,—Nature had given 
him a susceptible heart, especially toward a trusting 
woman, and when Anna’s exquisite beauty added its 
charm and her clever brain prompted the way, the 
man was entirely defenseless and simply surrendered. 

. But Kinney didn’t know this. It was part of 
Anna’s spell that she made her victims think they 
were still masters of themselves when they were 
abjectly under her thumb. 


144 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Yes/’ she went on, her voice hopeless, her eyes 
despairing. “ I am in a peculiar position. I can’t 
ask my husband to help me, for he is—oh, well,” 
she dimpled into a fleeting smile, “ he is a monster 
of jealousy,—and you are man of the world enough 
to know what that means, Mr. Kinney! ” 

This subtle compliment further subjugated her 
hearer, and he bridled a little as he said, sympatheti¬ 
cally, “ Yes, yes, indeed, Mrs. Knox, I know.” 

“ Now, to get right at the matter, Mr. Kinney, 
you ask me questions and I’ll answer them.” 

Anna cuddled among her cushions, looking like a 
pretty child about to play an amusing game. And 
indeed, that was not far from her mental attitude. 

Kinney pulled himself together. He must be 
stern, that he knew. He was dimly subconscious 
of the situation, and had an uneasy feeling that he 
was not quite in command of himself. This nerved 
him to strenuous effort, and he said, severely: 

“ Then, Mrs. Knox, is the story the maid, Tessie, 
tells a true one? Were you with Mr. Curran on his 
balcony after one o’clock that night,—the night 
he died?” 

“ It isn’t his balcony,” and Anna pouted prettily. 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 145 

“ It’s just as much my balcony,—both our rooms 
are on it.” 

“ Yes,—I know. And you were out on your 
balcony—” 

“ Yes, I was,” in a burst of frankness, “ I was. 
The moonlight was so divine, and I could not sleep, 
so I slipped on a boudoir gown and stepped out to 
look at the lovely scene.” 

“ And then?” 

“ And then, Mr. Curran chanced to step out of 
his window, too,—and, as was most natural, we 
spoke of the beauty of the night.” 

“ Of course,” said Kinney, and gazing at Anna’s 
face, he imagined Hugh Curran noting other beauty 
beside that of the night. 

“ And you sat by him on the balcony rail ? ” 

“ Why, yes, Mr. Kinney,—I did for a moment. 
Now, I’ll own up to you, that Mr. Curran was a 
fascinating man,—and that I—” she peeped at him 
from beneath her long lashes, “ that I am—at least, 
I’m called a bit of a flirt—oh, well, I confess—but 
there was no crime in that,—was there?” The 
blue eyes appealed; “ no real wrong in a tiny flir¬ 
tation? That isn’t what you detectives want to dis- 

cover, is it r 

10 


146 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“No, no, indeed, ma’am. No, certainly not!” 
“ Then you don’t need to say anything about it, 
do you? You don’t need to blazon abroad my 
little teeny-weeny indiscretion? ” 

“ No, no,—that isn’t necessary—” 

“ Oh, you good Mr. Kinney! Oh, you dear 
man! And you promise not to say anything about 
it, don’t you? ” 

“ But—but it is already known. Tessie—” 

“ But if you and I deny it, Tessie’s story won’t 
be believed. If you’ll say that I denied being out 
there, and that you believe my denial, no one can 
consider the maid’s story at all. It will be entirely 
discredited.” 

“ I don’t see how I can do that—” Kinney 
looked at her perplexedly. “ You see—” 

“ I don’t see anything! ” Anna playfully put both 
hands over her eyes, “ and you don’t either,”—she 
transferred the soft fingers to Kinney’s eyes, “ and 
so, let’s forget it all.” 

The touch of her roseleaf hands set the man’s 
pulses beating, and as the fingertips left his eyes, 
and he saw Anna’s roguish, smiling face, not far 
from his own, he would have promised her anything 
she asked. 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


147 


“ I don’t know as it’s important evidence—” he 
began, heavily. 

“ It isn’t evidence at all! ” she cried, gaily. “ I 
mean no evidence for or against your old murder 
case. Now, you know it isn’t, Mr. Kinney, and 
you know you’re going to ignore it all, and you’re 
going to leave poor little me out of the question, 
and then I’ll be happy and contented. And I’ll owe 
my happiness to you,—you dear man! ” 

She seized his hand in both her own, and dropped 
a fluttering kiss on the big red paw. 

This sealed Kinney’s doom, and in a sort of 
trance, he murmured: 

“ What shall I tell them ? ” 

“ Tell them,” Anna directed, “ that you inter¬ 
viewed me, and that I convinced you that I was 
not out on the balcony at all that night. That Tessie 
either made up the story or that she was mistaken. 
That the whole matter is of no importance anyway, 
and that you have other and more indicative knowl¬ 
edge to work on.” 

“ Yes. And what is that knowledge? ” 

‘‘He’s eating out of my hand,” thought Anna, 
jubilantly. 


148 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ It’s just this/’ she replied, gravely. “ While 
we sat on the balcony rail,—you see, I accept you as 
a sharer of my secrets,—there came a knock at Mr. 
Curran’s door. Only a light, almost timid tap, but 
in the silence of the night we heard it distinctly. Of 
course, he had to go and answer it, so he returned 
to his room, and I hastened to mine.” 

“ But you lingered,” the detective instinct was 
still at work, “ you tarried long enough to peep and 
see who it was? ” 

“ Oh, you wonderful man! How did you 
guess that? ” 

“ Who was it? ” 

“ I couldn’t see,—but I’m sure it was a woman.” 

“ Ah, the shawled woman of Mr. Meredith’s 
story.” 

“ Yes, exactly. I couldn’t corroborate him, for 
I didn’t want any one to know I was there. But 
since you know, and since you’re going to keep it 
secret,—I trust you, Mr. Kinney—I feel sure you 
can trace that woman.” 

“ Then I’ll work on that clue, using only Mr. 
Meredith’s statement and not telling that it is backed 
up by yours.” 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


149 


“Yes, that’s just what I mean. You see, as I 
heard that tap, and saw Mr. Curran open the door 
to somebody,—that lets me out regarding—oh, I 
mean—you can’t think me the murderess.” 

A glance at the baby face was enough to make 
any such supposition ridiculous, but Kinney was 
still rational enough to realize that if Anna’s story 
of the tap at the door was a true tale, then she 
could have had no hand in the murder herself. 
And as the time coincided with the time Mr. 
Meredith had mentioned, he felt he had no reason 
to disbelieve what Anna Knox told him. 

Kinney went downstairs a gladder and a wiser 
man. He had eliminated one possible suspect, 
which was one step in the right direction. 

He found Loft and Angel in the library, dis¬ 
cussing old books with Miss Dwyer. 

It seemed, Valentine had offered to buy some 
of Hugh Curran’s books from his sister, whose 
property they now were. 

And this had roused Miss Dwyer’s easily inflam¬ 
mable suspicions. 

“ That’s the key to this whole mystery,” she was 
exclaiming, as Kinney entered. “ There’s the mo- 


150 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

tive! You two, Mr. Loft and Mr. Baldwin envied 
my brother some of his rarities. I’ve heard how 
wicked and greedy all collectors are! How they 
resort to any means to acquire a volume they have 
set their hearts on. I’ve been told how they will 
lie, cheat, steal, yes, even murder to get a choice 
specimen. My brother had a wonderful collection,— 
I know something of these matters myself. I know 
his Black Letter books are among the finest known. 
I know he had certain volumes that all the collectors 
in the country were trying to get away from him. 
I know that only a connoisseur in these things would 
know the value of his possessions, and would go 
to any lengths to get them. Mr. Kinney,” she turned 
to the detective, “ there is your motive,—my brother 
was killed because he owned a valuable library. 
Now, you find his murderer! ” 

Attracted by the loud voice of Miss Dwyer, 
Stella, who was passing, came in. 

“ I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “ And, 
too,—though I know Val, you don’t take any inter¬ 
est in dreams,—yet I want to tell you of the vision 
I had last night.” 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


151 


“ Nonsense,” Loft began, “ but Kinney stopped 
him.” 

“ Let her tell it, Mr. Loft,” he counselled. 
“ Though only a dream it may be of benefit,—there 
may be a hint in it.” 

“ It was so vivid a dream,” Stella said, “ that I 
call it a vision. I saw a large library,—a room full 
of books,—it may have been a book shop, but the 
shelves were filled with old worn volumes. There 
were four men present, but all wore cowls,—such as 
monks wear. I could see none of their faces. But 
one seemed to be the owner of the books, and the 
others were visitors. There was much handling 
and discussion of the volumes. There also seemed 
to be quarrelling or ill feeling among the men. Of 
only two books could I discern the titles.” 

“ What were they?” asked Kinney, as Stella 
paused. 

“ One was f Rosalie /—and one was * Mr. S* ” 

“ Oh, pshaw,—” Valentine Loft laughed, “ those 
are the two words Mr. Curran spoke that night he 
was pretending to be clairvoyant. They meant noth¬ 
ing, but they stuck in your subconsciousness, Stella, 
and wove themselves into your dream.” 


1 52 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ I don’t remember Mr. Curran’s saying them,” 
Stella protested. 

“ But he did,” Loft returned. “ And nobody 
showed any understanding of what he meant. He 
used them at random. I’m afraid, Stella, your 
dream can’t help us much.” 

“ But I think it does,” Miss Dwyer, exclaimed; 
“ of course you men will deny it, but that dream 
goes to prove, to my mind, that my brother’s murder 
is the result of his possession of books that another 
collector coveted. I have no doubt Miss Lawrence 
knows or suspects this, and that is why such a dream 
came to her. As to the titles of the books, if Mr. 
Loft’s explanation of that is the true one, it makes 
no difference. Miss Lawrence may have heard my 
brother use those two words or phrases, and have 
entirely forgotten it. Then they returned to her 
in her dream.” 

“ I doubt if Mr. Curran actually made up those 
words,” Kinney said; “I think they meant some¬ 
thing to him,—even if no one else present under¬ 
stood them.” 

“ Rosalie, I think,—was the name of his wife,” 
Miss Dwyer said. “ At least he sometimes called 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


153 


her that,—or Rose, or Rosy,—yet it is my impres¬ 
sion they were all nicknames, and not her real name.” 

Angel Bob Baldwin had listened to this con¬ 
versation mostly in silence. Now he took the floor. 

“ Miss Dwyer,” he said, “ you have doubtless 
heard, as you say, of the greed and covetousness of 
book collectors. And, while it is true to a degree, it 
is by no means true that they make a practice of 
killing other collectors in their zeal. I am, in a way, 
a book dealer,—though I have no shop or storeroom. 
I am more of a commission agent. Yet, I am famil¬ 
iar with the ways of the collectors, especially the 
most important ones. And I know that no one of 
them would kill a man or would even resort to dis¬ 
honest methods to gain a book he desired. There 
are some, I daresay, who would do so, but not the 
important, the celebrated collectors. Your brother 
was one of these, Mr. Loft is one. And I can speak 
for Mr. Loft when I say that never has he descended 

to the slightest bit of underhanded dealing to attain 

* 

a desired volume. Nor did your brother. These 
two men, as well as all of my clients, are most ob¬ 
servant of the rights of fellow collectors. They give 
me their bids for an auction sale, or a private sale, 


154 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

and I execute their commissions with the same care 
and honesty that a broker or banker would use in 
financial transactions. I am telling you this, because 
I see you are under a misapprehension as to the 
methods and manners of first-class collectors.” 

“ All very fine, Mr. Baldwin,” the lady returned, 
“ except that I don’t believe it. I have come here 
to discover who killed my brother. If it turns out to 
be one of you men who threatened him—” 

“ Threatened him! ” cried Angel. “ What do 
you mean? ” 

“ Well, Fm told you discussed murder,—and 
what was the best method, and all that.” 

“ We did,” Loft said, “ but it was no threat,— 
it was regarding no intended victim! Miss Dwyer, 
you must be crazy! ” 

“ No, sir, I am not crazy, but I am a deter¬ 
mined woman. I shall never rest until I discover 
the criminal. If the local police cannot accomplish 
this, I shall engage a private detective—” 

“ Do so, if you wish, Miss Dwyer.” Loft was 
courteous, as always. “ I, too, should be glad to 
have the mystery solved.” 

“ Ell help you, Miss Dwyer,” Stella offered. 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


155 

“ I’m not sure that a woman’s intuition can’t 
accomplish more than a man’s skill. At any rate, 
I’m glad you do not scoff at my dreams,—for I 
have too often proved their truth and value to slight 
their importance.” 

The two women left the room and Kinney turned 
to Loft. 

“ I want to take up that matter of the woman 
Mr. Meredith told of,” he began. “ It hasn’t been 
sufficiently considered, I say. Now, Mr. Loft, what 
women slept on that floor that night? ” 

“ Why on that floor? ” objected Loft. “ Grant¬ 
ing a veiled woman went into Curran’s room, late 
at night, she could have come down from the 
floor above.” 

“ Or up from the floor below,” added Angel. 
“ I hate to seem to asperse the character of a dead 
man, but Curran was evidently a woman lover of 
sorts. He was, I can’t help thinking,—quite capable 
of a vulgar intrigue with a housemaid,—and Val¬ 
halla employs some very pretty ones.” 

“ It is an unpleasant supposition,” Loft said, 
gravely, “ but I’d rather think that, than to imagine 
any of our own people doing such a thing.” 


156 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Who were on that floor?” persisted Kinney. 
“ Mrs. Meredith, Mrs. Knox, Miss Fuller, Miss 
Lawrence, the Countess, and Mrs. Jennings, the 
housekeeper,” Loft said shortly. “ No one of those 
is possible. My housekeeper is a staid, middle-aged 
person, and the other ladies are out of the question. 
If there was a visitor, such as Mr. Meredith de¬ 
scribed, it must have been—” 

“ Tessie, perhaps,” Angel suggested. 

“Yes, Tessie, if anybody,” Loft agreed. “ She 
is a naughty little piece,—Mrs. Jennings has often 
threatened to discharge her. But she’s a capable 
chambermaid, and such are not easy to get.” 

“ Well, if Tessie did go there that night, she 
surely didn’t kill Curran,” Angel said, reflectively. 
“ How could she have done it? ” 

“ Like most theories, it presupposes previous 
acquaintance with Curran,” Kinney said; “ whoever 
killed that man, knew him before. Nobody could 
have done it on first acquaintance.” 

“Unless it was Ned Knox,” Loft said; “I’m 
loath to suspect Ned, but you know, Angel, how 
impulsive he is,—and how jealous of Anna.” 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


157 


Kinney looked disturbed. He hated to have 
Knox accused,—he hated any reflection on Anna. 

“ Mr. Knox was the one who advocated shoot¬ 
ing/’ he reminded them. 

“ That’s nothing,” Loft said, “ he had no pistol 
up here,—and, too, it was less suspicious to choose 
the method he had not advocated.” 

Valentine Loft looked moody and worried. He 
did not want to accuse Knox, but he had his own 
reasons for doing so. The man was beset by doubts 
and fears. He felt the fearful responsibility of this 
misfortune that had come to him,—and he had a 
secret cause for anxiety that was driving him to 
distraction. If Knox should be proved the guilty 
person, Loft, while not exactly glad, would be 
greatly relieved. 

Miss Dwyer, too, was a nuisance. As Loft was 
a lawyer, she appealed to him continually in regard 
to minor legal questions. She declared she would 
not let him touch her brother’s belongings or have 
anything to do with the settlement of his estate, 
but she still pestered him with her foolish questions 
and arguments. Miss Dwyer was by no means sure 
of the guilt she attributed to Valentine Loft, but 


158 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


she did suspect him, and indomitably she pursued 
her inquiries. 

No will of Hugh Curran had been heard of, so 
Miss Dwyer was doubtless the sole heir. 

Repeatedly Loft advised her to put the whole 
matter in the hands of a capable attorney,—but the 
spinster hesitated, her real reason being that if Loft 
should be freed from her suspicion, he was the 
lawyer she wished to retain. 

So she stayed at Valhalla, bothering every one, 
annoying every one, but serenely unconscious of it. 

The passing days brought no new theories or 
discoveries on the part of the police. Their knowl¬ 
edge of the circumstances seemed to be complete as 
far as they could make it. No questioning of house¬ 
hold or servant brought any new revelations. 

Tessie, when grilled, seemed to be entirely inno¬ 
cent of any acquaintanceship with Hugh Curran. 
The idea of her tapping on his door that night was 
the merest surmise. The girl was frank and seem¬ 
ingly truthful. 

Moreover, Violet vouched for her presence in 
the bedroom they shared, soon after half-past one 
that night. 


LITTLE ANNA’S WILES 


159 


“ She has an alibi,” Angel said, as they discussed 
it after Tessie had been dismissed. “ An unshakable 
alibi,—if Violet tells the truth.” 

“ If,” said Kinney. 

“ I think she does,” Loft declared. “ They are 
good girls, and Mrs. Jennings says they are truth¬ 
ful. It’s too bad to suspect them with positively no 
reason for it.” 

“That’s so,” Kinney agreed; “we must look 
elsewhere.” 


CHAPTER IX 


Pauline’s grief 

Kinney, away from the lure of Anna’s pres¬ 
ence, wondered how he had been so subjugated by 
her. The man was soft-hearted but hard-headed, 
and, thinking it all over, he began to wonder whether 
she hadn’t purposely bamboozled him. 

He began to think that it would be quite possible 
for her story to be all true up to the tap on Curran’s 
door. Or rather to the next statement, which was 
that Anna was sure the visitor was a woman. 

Suppose it had not been a woman at all,—suppose 
it had been the irate husband, Ned Knox. And sup¬ 
pose Anna, banking on Mr. Meredith’s story had 
added her assurance that the caller was a woman. 

The more Kinney pondered over this idea, the 
more plausible it appeared to him. He decided 
not to discuss it with anybody, but to ferret it 
out himself. 

For, he had come to the conclusion that the men 

at Valhalla changed their mental attitudes from 

160 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


161 


day to day. Loft, himself, now suspected Knox and 
the next day he would disclaim all such possibility. 

Kinney concluded finally that he would learn 
more from the women than from the men. 

So he set forth on his day’s work by asking an 
interview with the Countess Galaski. 

This self-important personage granted the re¬ 
quest, and received him in a small reception room 
where they could be alone. 

“I’m glad you have come to me at last, Mr. 
Kinney,” she said, her black eyes snapping and her 
over-red lips set in a straight line. 

“You know something, madam?” he inquired, 
surprised. 

“ I may know something and I may not,” she 
returned, “ but at least, I can give you a hint which 
way to look.” 

“ I hope you will do so, Countess.” 

“ Well,—find Mr. Curran’s watch.” 

“ That is one of my chiefest endeavors. If you 
can give me a hint as to its whereabouts, I shall 

indeed be grateful.” 

“ I can’t do that, Mr. Kinney, but—has it never 
occurred to you to search the rooms of the house¬ 
hold,—guests, servants and all ? 

11 


162 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Why, no,—I confess I’ve not thought of 
doing that.” 

“ It might produce results.” 

“ I can’t think so, Countess. Supposing for a 
moment, any one under this roof had taken the 
watch, such a one would, of course, have disposed 
of it before this. It’s over a week now, since Mr. 
Curran’s death, and no one, I mean no one of crimi¬ 
nal intent, would keep any damaging evidence still 
in possession.” 

“ Nevertheless, it could do no harm to look.” 

“ Then advise me a little further. Look where? 
There’s no use in searching all the rooms, if you 
have some knowledge,—some inkling of where it 
may be.” 

The Countess pondered. 

“No;” she said, finally. “I can’t advise you. 
There may be no result whatever, and in that case, I 
am not willing to mention any name.” 

“ At least, you have given me a new idea, and I 
thank you, Countess. Do help me further, and tell 
me when the rooms,—certain rooms are most likely 
to be vacated. I don’t want to advertise this search, 
as that would lead to greater precautions.” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


163 


‘‘ You’ll have to watch for yourself. It should 
not be difficult. Say, if several go for a motor drive 
this afternoon, you could go into their rooms then. 
Or, there is always opportunity while we are at 
dinner or luncheon.” 

Kinney looked at her admiringly. 

“ It may seem to you, Countess, that you are in¬ 
structing me in matters I should have known myself. 
But, I admit, a search of the rooms here for the 
missing watch, never came into my mind,—and, 
frankly, I don’t hope for much from it.” 

“ Maybe not,” the Countess smiled, “ but it can 
do no harm. Of course, you will ignore and forget 
any thing you may learn not bearing on your case.” 

“ Of course,” returned Kinney, sincerely. “ I 
may include your room? ” 

“Oh, yes, if you like; though the fact of my 
proposing this search would seem to imply my own 
innocence. However, were I guilty myself, I’d be 
clever enough to cook up this scheme,—so go ahead. 
Search my room with the rest.” 

Kinney was not quite ready to follow this advice 
without telling Valentine Loft of his intentions, so 
he went at once in quest of the master of the house. 


164 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Why, of course,” Loft said; “ go ahead, Kin¬ 
ney. I hate to have it done, but if you think it 
necessary, proceed.” 

“ I’ve wondered why you don’t do something of 
the sort,” said Baldwin, who was with Loft in the 
smoking room. “ And another thing, Mr. Kinney, 
why don’t you check up alibis? ” 

“ I’ve tried to, Mr. Baldwin, but at two o’clock 
in the morning an alibi is a hard thing to prove. 
Everybody simply says, * In bed, asleeep,’ and who’s 
to prove otherwise? ” 

“ That’s true,” Angel returned. “ Mr. Loft and 
I can vouch for each other, as I’m rooming in his 
suite, but most of the others are alone.” 

“ That’s just it, sir,” said Kinney. “ Even Mr. 
Knox was in his own bedroom with the door closed. 
So his wife can’t swear to his alibi.” 

“ Nor he to hers,” observed Loft. “ Mr. 
Baldwin and I can swear to each other’s presence 
from one o’clock on, and the Merediths shared a 
room. Except for us four, every one roomed 
alone,—that’s so.” 

“ That’s why I feel I must search the rooms,” 
Kinney stated. “ There may be some evidence 
against somebody, some unexpected clue—” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


165 


“Yes, there may be,” Angel said; “and here’s 
another thing. I want to look around Curran’s 
room a bit more. His sister has taken away his per¬ 
sonal belongings, but I think there might be some 
clues in the waste basket or on the tables or floor. 
Roly Mears fancies himself as a detective, but the 
boy doesn’t get anywhere. So, if you’ve the key, 
Mr. Kinney, let’s run up there a few minutes.” 

“ Very well, sir, I’m willing. Come along.” 

The two went up the great staircase, and as they 
turned into the corridor that led to the room Hugh 
Curran had occupied, they almost fell over pretty 
Tessie, the maid, who was stooping, her ear at the 
keyhole of a door. 

“ Here, you! ” cried Kinney roughly, putting 
out his hand to snatch her away. “ What do 
you mean? ” 

But to his surprise, instead of looking fright¬ 
ened, Tessie drew herself upright, and finger on lip, 
motioned Kinney to listen himself at the keyhole. 

Surprised into acquiescence the detective did so, 
and, listening intently, he heard a woman’s ago¬ 
nized sobs. 

More, he heard broken snatches of sentences, 


166 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


cried out in agony, as if irrepressible wailings of a 
broken heart. 

“ If I could only forget! ” were the words that 
came to him, scarcely breathed, almost inaudible, yet 
he was just able to catch them. 

“ I will forget!” she went on, after another 
short period of intense grief. “ I must—I will 
forget! ” 

And then—in a clear, ringing triumphant voice, 
“ I have forgotten, yes,—I have forgotten! ” 

Though not loud this was so unmistakably a 
desperate resolve, a determined achievement, that 
Kinney could almost see the conquering smile that 
must have accompanied it. 

And yet, the next instant, the speaker broke 
down again, and sobbed as if her heart would break. 

Feeling ashamed of himself, Kinney stood up, 
and taking Tessie’s arm, drew her along with them, 
and the three entered Hugh Curran’s room, as 
Kinney unlocked the door. 

“ Now’,” he said, closing the door, pushing 
Tessie into a chair, and standing over her with a 
lowering face. 

“ Now, what do you mean by eavesdropping 
like that?” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


167 


“ It was this way, sir,” and Tessie was no whit 
embarrassed. “ That’s Miss Fuller’s room, and I 
went up to make it up, sir. At the door, I thought 
I heard her crying, and I thought I’d better not 
intrude. I stooped to listen, to make sure she really 
was crying, and then you came along.” 

“ That’s all right,” Angel said, nodding at 
Kinney. “ Tessie is a chambermaid on this floor 
and it was her duty to report for work. If she 
heard Miss Fuller crying, she did right about hesi¬ 
tating to enter, and though I can’t condone listening 
at keyholes, it seemed the natural thing to do. Is 
anyone else in the room? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Kinney, slowly. “ Either 
there is, or Miss Fuller was talking to herself. She 
was certainly in deep distress.” 

“Some one ought to go to her!” exclaimed 
Bob. “ Some of the women.” 

“ I don’t think so,” Kinney demurred. “ She 
seemed in trouble of her own. She was saying, 
‘ If I could only forget! I must forget!’ That 
sounds like a personal, a private sorrow. I think it 
better not to intrude. A little later, Tessie may go 
in,—and perhaps she can be of assistance in 
some way.” 


168 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Miss Fuller has been like that before, sir,” 
Tessie volunteered. “ Twice, I’ve found her crying 
when I went to help her dress for dinner.” 

“ What was her explanation? ” asked Kinney. 

“ The first time,—she said some dust had flown 
in her eyes from the window. But I think she knew 
I didn’t believe that. The second time, she sai t d 
nothing,—just bathed her eyes and let me dress her 
without a word.” 

“ Then she won’t resent your presence now. 
Run along, Tessie; if you can get in, do all you can 
for her. If not, come back here and tell us about it.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Kinney,” and the astute maid w r ent 
away. 

“ That girl knows a lot,” said Baldwin. “ She’s 
either a good faithful servant, or she’s a wily, canny 
fraud. I don’t know which.” 

“ She’s both,” said Kinney, sapiently. “ She’s 
a good servant,—Mr. Loft says so,—but she’s 
mighty cute. Little goes on that she doesn’t see.” 

“ Yes, she saw Mrs. Knox on the balcony,” 
Angel reminded him. 

“ I don’t believe she did,” and Kinney remem¬ 
bered his promise to Anna. “ I think she made that 
yarn up.” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


169 


“ Good for you,” cried Baldwin. “ I’m glad to 
hear you say that. I’d hate to believe any wrong 
of Mrs. Knox. But get busy, Kinney, and help me 
look round this place. Hello, where’s the book cata¬ 
logue gone ? ” 

“ Which one ? Here are two.” 

“ Yes, they’re little ones. But there was a big 
one, it was here that morning,—when we found 
Mr. Curran.” 

“Do you want it? I suppose it can be found. 
Probably Mr. Loft took it,—or maybe Miss Dwyer. 
She wants to sell the books of her brother, 
you know.” 

“ It doesn’t matter. I can get another like it. 
Now let’s hunt the waste basket. There are always 
clues in a waste basket. Or, I’ll look in it, while 
you search the bureau drawers. I can’t help feeling 
there are clues to be found in his room.” 

Bob bent over the basket and Kinney obediently 
searched the drawers of dresser and chiffonier. 

“ Nothing doing,” the detective said, at last, 
turning to the other. “ You found anything? ” 

He smiled at the heap of litter Bob had turned 
cut on the floor. 

“ No,” was the perplexed reply. 


170 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Looking for anything in particular? You 
seem disappointed.” 

“ I am disappointed, but I’m not after anything 
in particular. Except I hoped to find some letter 
or note that might tell us something. Come on, Eve 
searched all I want to. I don’t think so much of 
waste basket clues after all. I can find no ‘ feathers 
left around ’ at all.” 

They went away, and a slight pause at the door 
of Pauline Fuller’s room brought no sound to the 
ears of the detective. 

“ All quiet in here now,” he said, rather soberly, 
as they went downstairs. 

And at the luncheon table, Bob, to his surprise, 
found Pauline in an unusually gay mood. She was 
talkative and animated, and her good spirits infected 
the others, until the atmosphere became more cheery 
and bright than it had been since the occurrence of 
the tragedy. 

Luncheon over, Bob took possession of Little 
Anna and carried her off for a stroll in the gardens. 

“ I just want to tell you, dear,” Angel said, 
“ that I, for one, do not believe that yarn of Tessie’s 
about you.” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


171 


“ You blessed Angel! ” and Anna gave him her 
loveliest smile. “ I’m glad I have at least one friend 
at court.” 

“ And so,” Bob went on, “ that lets Ned out as a 
suspect. For though you did make a few eyes at 
Curran during the evening, that wasn’t enough to 
rouse jealous old Ned to the killing pitch.” 

“ Of course it wasn’t,” and Anna beamed satis¬ 
faction. “ Now, Angel, who did do it? ” 

“ Anna,—look here. Ned is out of it,—I’m 
vouched for by Valentine himself, so I’m out of it. 
Now, there’s only one left of the trio who discussed 
ways and means—” 

“ Val himself! ” said Anna, softly. “ But why, 
Angel, for Heaven’s sake, why? ” 

“ I don’t know,—but,—oh, Anna, I can’t say 
it,—but do you think, can you imagine that Pauline 
knew Curran before? ” 

Anna looked both serious and frightened. 

“ I wouldn’t think so, Angel, only,—when Mr. 
Curran did that mind reading stunt,—Pauline did 
look self-conscious.” 

“ At what? ” 

“ I think it was at * Mr. S/ You know, Hugh 


172 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Curran flung out ‘ Mr. S.’, and ‘ Rosalie/ and—now, 
Angel, don’t kill me! but I felt sure that Pauline 
turned white and gripped at her chair arms when he 
said, ‘ Mr. S/ and—yes, I will tell you,—I thought 
you did, Bob, when he said ‘ Rosalie ’! Did you? ” 

“ Did I ? I did not! I never knew anybody 
named Rosalie in my life. I never heard the name 
except in some general way. But, Anna, that 
‘ Rosalie ’ has been explained. It seems it was his 
wife’s name, or nickname. His sister said so.” 

“ Yes,—I know. But he didn’t say it that night 
because it was his wife’s name. Nobody here ever 
heard of his wife. He used it to tease somebody 
and I thought it might be you.” 

“ Well it wasn’t. Maybe Val knows some 
Rosalie person,—or maybe your Ned does,— 
I don’t.” 

“ Ned doesn’t either, I asked him. Well, it’s no 
matter anyway. But I’m positive Pauline was upser 
at the mention of ‘ Mr. S.’ and that’s why I thought 
maybe she had known Mr. Curran before. Or 
maybe she knew some * Mr. S.’ who also knew 
Mr. Curran.” 

“ Maybe,” said Bob. “ Anyway, Pauline was in 
high spirits at lunch time.” 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


173 


“ Put on,” and Anna wagged her head saga¬ 
ciously. “ I know Pauline,—and the worse she 
feels, the gayer she acts,—I mean, if she doesn’t 
want people to know.” 

Baldwin thought of Kinney’s account of 
Pauline’s grief that morning, and he wondered. 

“ You’re sure, Anna? ” he inquired. 

“ Positive. And, too, I know Pauline had been 
crying. She had on an extra touch of rouge, but 
she couldn’t entirely correct her reddened eyelids. 
Whatever was the matter, she cried over it. Then 
she made a very careful toilette, dressed her hair 
and fixed up her face with greatest care,—but she 
couldn’t fool me. She had had one good big cry 
this morning, that I know.” 

“ Oh, well, I suppose you women all have your 
ups and downs.” 

“ Of course, and it’s enough to make Pauly cry 
to have all this horror here, so shortly before her 
wedding day.” 

“ Is the day set? ” 

“ Not quite, but it will be inside a couple of 
months. That is, it would have been. I don’t know 
whether this horrid business will postpone it or not. 


174 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


But, Angel, nobody seems to get anywhere. Why is 
nothing being done ? ” 

“ It’s a hard nut to crack, Anna. And the wheels 
of justice move slowly—” 

“ They don’t move at all! I’m trying to get 
Ned to take me away.” 

“ He can’t, Anna, until he is freed from 
suspicion.” 

“Ned! Suspicion! Ridiculous!” 

“ Ridiculous, I grant, but that Dwyer woman 
holds that all of us, Ned, Val, and myself are under 
suspicion, because of that fool talk we had—” 

“ But you’ve just said Val can prove your alibi.” 
“ I know,—but I can’t prove his. You see, 
the house was crowded that night, and I went into 
Val’s suite. I slept in his bed,—he would have it 
so,—and he slept on the couch in his sitting room. 
So,—the way the rooms are,—he could go out into 
the hall if he wished, and I wouldn’t know it,— 
unless I heard him—” 

“ The door was closed between you two? ” 
“Yes; and the room he slept in opens out to the 
hall, but the bedroom where I was, doesn’t. So that, 
if he stepped carefully, he could easily go out and 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


175 


return without my knowing it; whereas, I couldn’t 
get out to the hall, without going through the room 
where he slept. And he’s a very light sleeper,-—so 
there’s my alibi. Besides, I didn’t go out, or try 
to go out at all.” 

“ Of course you didn’t. Why would you kill 
Curran ? ” 

“ It isn’t the why, Anna, it’s the who ? Why 
would Val kill him? And yet, if it really was one 
of us three, and if you take Ned out, and if Val 
proved my alibi, there’s no one left but Val.” 

“ Rubbish, it never was Val! ” 

“ No, I don’t think it was either.” 

Yet it was not long before Angel Bob had an 
opportunity to revise his opinion. 

On their return to the house, Roly Mears beck¬ 
oned to Bob, excitedly. 

“ Come on, old chap,” he said, in a low tone; 
“ come on, quick.” 

Leaving Anna with the others, Bob followed 
Roly, who took him to the library, where Kinney 
was waiting. 

“ Mr. Kinney has found something, Angel,” 
Roly said. “ I don’t want to tell Val, or anybody, 
until you hear about it. Tell him, Mr. Kinney.” 


176 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ While you were all at luncheon,” Kinney began, 
his face expressing an unwillingness to divulge the 
secret he had, “ I made some search among the bed¬ 
rooms. I hated to do it, but it had to be done. I 
looked in the ladies’ rooms first, so as to be sure to 
get that done while they were absent, and in the 
rooms of the Countess, Miss Lawrence and Miss 
Dwyer, I found nothing of any informative impor¬ 
tance. But,—when I went into Miss Fuller’s room, 
—I did.” 

“ What did you find? ” asked Baldwin. He tried 
to make his voice casual but it shook a little in spite 
of himself. Was the beautiful Pauline to be dragged 
into this miserable business? 

“ I can’t think it was anything incriminating,” 
he added. 

“ It seems to me it is, sir,” and Kinney looked 
as sorrowful as Angel himself. 

As he spoke, he handed over to Bob a watch. 

It was gold, very thin, and it had no chain or 
fob attached. 

He took it mechanically. Before he examined 
it at all, he knew it must be Hugh Curran’s watch, 
and the conviction jarred him terribly. 


PAULINE’S GRIEF 


177 


“It is Mr. Curran’s?” he asked, staring at 
the timepiece. 

“ Yes, Mr. Baldwin. Hidden in a small desk 
which was locked.” 

“ And which you pried open? ” 

“ And which I opened with a skeleton key. I 
had to. It was necessary in the interest of justice.” 

“Damn you and your justice! How dare you 
break into a lady’s locked desk? ” 

“ Softly, now, Mr. Baldwin. That is the duty 
of a detective. And the fact of its being there, 
locked up, proves it a secret of Miss Fuller’s.” 

“ Secret nothing! If this watch was in Miss 
Fuller’s room, it had a right there. Mr. Curran 
must have given it to her.” 

“ Very good, sir. That may be. And, now, Mr. 
Baldwin, if you’ll just look at the picture in the 
watch case—” 

Unwilling, yet urged on by the impatient glances 
of both Kinney and Roly Mears, Angel Bob clicked 
open the back of Hugh Curran’s watch. 

And found himself looking on the beautiful 
face of Pauline Fuller. 


12 


178 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Stunned, aghast, he quickly snapped it shut, and 
stared at Mears. 

“What does it mean?” he whispered. His 
bravado was gone, his face took on a frightened 
pallor. Angel was emotional, his quick mind saw 
into the past, turned, saw into the future, and both 
looked so black, he groaned aloud. 

“ Val! ” he cried, in anguish, “ Valentine! Oh, 
Pauline! ” 


CHAPTER X 
curran’s watch 

It was a moment before Baldwin could pull 
himself together. 

“ I can’t seem to sense it,” he said, musingly. 
“ That watch,—hidden in Miss Fuller’s room! Oh, 
—I see,—it’s a plant! ” 

“ A plant? ” inquired Roly. 

“ Yes,—somebody has done it to drag Pauline 
into this mess,—or, the criminal is trying to divert 
suspicion from himself—” 

“ Herself! ” Mears exclaimed; “ if your sugges¬ 
tion is true, that’s a woman’s trick! And, it may be 
mere mischief—do you suppose Anna—” 

“ Oh, hush, Roly,” Bob exclaimed. “ Why harp 
on Anna? ” 

“ But there’s more to this than meets the eye. 
You see, Angel, if Ned killed Curran because he 
flirted with Anna, then Anna is going to use every 
means to turn suspicion from Ned.” 

“ It looks like that to me,” Detective Kinney 

179 


180 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


agreed. “ To my way of thinking, Mr. Knox is 
the only one who seems to have a motive—” 

“Seems to have,—perhaps,” Roly said; “but 
anybody else may have a motive of which we know 
nothing. Ned Knox is impulsive, impetuous,—but I 
can’t believe he’d murder,—just because of a 
flirtation—” 

“ We don’t know, Mr. Mears,” Kinney reminded 
him, “ just how serious that flirtation was. Men 
have killed other men, when they found them—” 
“Never mind,—don’t speculate,” Roly said; 
“ now, Angel, what is the thing to do,—regarding 
the watch, I mean? ” 

“ Take it straight to Val,” Baldwin replied, 
promptly. “ It’s the only thing to do. We can’t 
speak of it to Pauline,—I don’t for a minute believe 
she knows a thing about it—” 

“ Now, now, Mr. Baldwin, I think she does.” 
Kinney spoke gravely. “ It’s all very well to hold a 
lady above suspicion,—but I can’t see how the mur¬ 
derer could get that watch into Miss Fuller’s 
locked desk—” 

“ Don’t speculate, let’s find out. I say, show the 
watch to Mr. Loft, tell him the whole story, and 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


181 


do as he says. Give him the first chance to clear 
Miss Fuller—for, she must be cleared.” 

“ Fd rather put it up to the lady herself,” the 
detective demurred. 

“ Well, you can’t.” Angel Bob was dominating. 
“If she knows nothing of it, we must find out who 
does,—and if Miss Fuller is in any way implicated, 
it will come out soon enough. Mr. Loft is the right 
one to go to, for he will want to shield Miss Fuller 
from any unpleasantness possible.” 

Kinney looked a little surprised at the methods 
that seemed to obtain among gentlemen, but he was 
willing to take the matter to Valentine Loft, and 
said so. 

“ Come on, then,” and with the amazed look 
still on his face, Baldwin led the way. 

They found Loft and beckoned to him, and the 
four men went into the library and shut the door. 

“What is it?” Loft asked; “anything new?” 

His lean, strong face looked careworn, his ex¬ 
pression was not hopeful. As a matter of fact, he 
was pretty well bowled over by the misfortune that 
had fallen on his house. He dreaded any solution of 
the mystery,—for he could conceive of none that 


182 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


would not implicate some of his friends or guests, 
and he wanted, most of all, to be rid of the 
whole business. 

But a glance at the faces of those about him now, 
showed him that there was something of importance 
to be divulged. 

“ Out with it,” he said; “ you have found some¬ 
thing, I see.” 

“ Yes,” said Kinney, “ we have found Hugh 
Curran’s watch.” 

“ Whose picture is in it? ” Loft asked, quickly. 
“ Anna’s?” 

He bit his lip, annoyed at his own impulsive ques¬ 
tion. He wouldn’t have minded Bob and Roly, but 
he was truly sorry to have made the suggestion 
before Kinney. 

However, the detective showed no interest in 
Anna’s name, but he watched Loft closely as he 
handed the watch to him. 

Snapping open the back case, Valentine Loft saw 
the picture of Pauline. 

It was not a recent one,—clearly it had been 
taken a few years since, but it was unmistakable. 

The beautiful smiling face was happy and even 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


183 


roguish. A different Pauline from the dignified, 
gracious woman they knew,—a girl Pauline, almost 
childish in her innocent smile. 

Loft gazed as if hypnotized. 

Had it been less tragic it would have been almost 
comical to note the mild wonder in his face as he 
turned it to his two friends, ignoring the detec¬ 
tive entirely. 

“ Where do you suppose Curran ever got Pauly’s 
picture?” he said; “ such a good one, too,—when 
she was a little girl,—almost.” 

“ It doesn’t mean anything to you, then, Mr. 
Loft ? ” Kinney asked, staring hard at him. 

“ Mean anything? It means that somehow Mr. 
Curran became possessed of Miss Fuller’s picture,— 
and as it was so beautiful, he kept it.” 

“ She didn’t give it to him? ” 

“ She never saw him until she met him here. 
She told me so herself.” 

The calm finality of Loft’s tone left no room for 
doubt of his utter belief in his fiancee’s word. 

“ Well, Mr. Loft, I’m sorry to tell you that I 
found the watch, hidden in a locked desk in Miss 
Fuller’s room.” 


184 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Who put it there? ” Loft’s tone was quiet, but 
the men who knew him could see a gleam come into 
his eye. 

“ We don’t know,” Kinney spoke almost gently, 
“ but in my opinion, Miss Fuller put it there herself.” 

“Mr. Kinney,” Loft spoke very sternly, “if you 
mean she did so with some unexplained but innocent 
intent, very well. If, however, you are implying or 
suggesting a shade of doubt or suspicion of Miss 
Fuller—in any way,—you will answer to me for it! 
How dare you,” he went on, as Kinney’s face told 
plainly that he had his suspicions, “ how dare you 
even speak the name of that lady in connection with 
wrong-doing of any sort? I—I could kill you 
where you sit! ” 

“ Now, Val,” Angel interrupted, “ don’t sling 
around any more remarks about killing! We’re too 
careless in the way we use that word. You’re not 
going to kill Mr. Kinney,—and you must listen, 
if he has any theories to offer. Good Heavens, man, 
his words,—whatever they might be,—couldn’t 
hurt Pauline! ” 

“ No; but they hurt me! They infuriate me! I 
won’t have it! Retract, Mr. Kinney, or leave my 
house this instant! ” 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


185 


I haven’t said anything yet,” Kinney reminded 
him; “ and, too, Mr. Loft, as an agent of the Law, 
I can’t be ordered out of a house, even by its owner.” 

“ Law or no law, I’ll put you out myself, if you 
mention the lady’s name again,—in any connec¬ 
tion whatever! ” 

“ Why, Val,” cried Mears, “ I’ve never seen you 
excited before! Don’t take it like that! ” 

“ There’s only one way to take it,—to quash it! ” 
Loft stormed on; “ I repeat, if you found that watch 
in Miss Fuller’s room,—it was put there by some 
evil-minded individual, either to make trouble for 
Miss Fuller, or to save his own skin! The mur¬ 
derer of Hugh Curran put it there, I have no doubt, 
—and as to why or how he did it,—I don’t know and 
don’t care! I will say, however, Mr. Kinney, that 
you have done nothing since your arrival,—that you 
have discovered nothing. That you are making 
trouble instead of curing it, and that unless you 
agree to drop this particular phase of the matter I 
shall take steps to have you removed—in the name 
of the Law! ” 

“ Fine talk, sir,” said Kinney, who grew calmer 
as Loft grew more excited. “ Fine talk, but it gets 


186 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


you nowhere. Why not face facts, Mr. Loft? Why 
not accept the fact that I found the watch,—as I 
said,—and let me confront Miss Fuller with the 
fact, and receive her doubtless satisfactory explana¬ 
tion of its presence in her locked desk.” 

Valentine Loft looked at the speaker with a 
glance of utter disdain. 

“ You shall never have an interview of any sort 
with Miss Fuller,” he said, more quietly than he had 
yet spoken. “If the watch must be shown to her, 
or discussed with her,—I will do it,—no one 
else may.” 

“ Fm afraid I’ll have to insist on being present 
at that interview, Mr. Loft,” and the detective shook 
his head doggedly. 

“You shall not! You sneaking, spying—-” 

“ Now, Valentine,” Angel Bob seemed almost 
alarmed, “ let up on all that. I know how you feel 
about Pauline, but can’t you see, man, that all your 
bluster and anger doesn’t help her cause any? In 
fact, it strengthens any possible suspicion against—” 

“Don’t dare say it, Bob!” Loft’s eyes were 
blazing, and he turned on Baldwin in fierce anger. 
“ I am blustering,—I know it. I never blustered 


CURRAN’S WATCH 187 

before in my life,—I never had occasion to! 
But this!” 

Loft stopped suddenly, and again looked at the 
picture in the watch which he still held in his hand. 

As he gazed, his face softened, his features re¬ 
laxed into a half smile, and he said, at last: 

“ This must have been taken when Pauly was a 
school girl. She can’t be more than eighteen, here. 
I daresay she gave it to some school chum, and 
Curran got possession of it merely as a fancy pic¬ 
ture. For he never knew Pauly. I’ll go to her,— 
she’ll tell me all about it,—but you must let me go 
alone, Mr. Kinney. I’ll agree, on my honor, to tell 
you all she says, but I really don’t want an audience 
to our conversation.” 

Loft had calmed down to his usual composure, 
and his voice was tranquil again. Having hit on 
what seemed to him an adequate solution of the 
picture in Curran’s watch, he was ready to treat 
Kinney in his former friendly manner. 

The two men were not at all congenial,—the 
detective’s blunt business manners were distasteful 
to Loft’s suave culture, but if Pauline’s name could 
be stricken from the detective’s slate, Loft would 
let him run his own gait in peace. 


188 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Will you go and inquire about the matter at 
once, Mr. Loft? ” Kinney asked. 

“ I will do it during the afternoon, Mr. Kinney. 
Not just at the moment, for I chance to know that 
Miss Fuller has gone to her room for a nap. I am 
not willing to disturb her,—it is her habit to rest 
after luncheon. But I will arrange to see her this 
afternoon sometime, and I will take up the subject 
with her. Meantime, I will keep the watch.” 

“ No, Mr. Loft, I will keep the watch. It is a 
piece of material evidence,—at least, as things 
stand now.” 

“ A feather left around,” said Roly, smiling. 
“ Let him keep it, Val,—he has the right to.” 

“ It doesn’t matter,” and Loft handed the watch 
back to the detective, with a faint shrug of 
his shoulders, as if, after all, the incident was of 
small account. 

“ You’d do well to adopt a maxim of mine, 
Kinney,” he said. “ It is, * Do nothing and all will 
be done.’ Ever hear it before?” 

“ No, and I never want to again. I’d get no¬ 
where at all, if I worked on that line, Mr. Loft.” 

“ That’s where you make your mistake. There 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


189 


are many times when a masterly inactivity brings 
about the best results. This is one of them. Do 
nothing in that watch matter,—it will all be done. 
I’ll meet you here, say, at five o’clock,—it’s three, 
now,—and I’ll prove my statement.” 

And with this Kinney was forced to be content. 

Unable to find better company he attached him¬ 
self to Miss Dwyer. 

She was always ready to talk to him, but he 
rarely gained any information from her. 

This time, however, she had something on 
her mind. 

“ I have a theory, Mr. Kinney,” she said, her 
pale blue eyes blinking with earnestness, “ and it’s 
this. You see, my brother was killed by somebody 
in this house. None of the servants did it,—that’s 
too ridiculous! So, it was some of the household 
themselves,—or guests, I mean. Well, not one of 
them knew my brother, or had any personal motive 
to kill him. But, he was a great and successful book 
collector. So, I am sure the motive was possession 
of his rare volumes. To you this may seem an in¬ 
adequate motive,—but I assure you it is not. I 
know, Mr. Baldwin says that the big collectors don’t 


190 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


kill to get the treasures,—but he may be mistaken 
in this instance, and, too, Mr. Loft isn’t a very 
big collector.” 

“ Oh, so it’s Mr. Loft you are favoring with 
your suspicions, is it? But, Mr. Baldwin is also 
interested in books.” 

“ Not in the same way. You don’t know about 
such matters, I daresay,—but the collector’s mania is 
really a dangerous thing. Mr. Baldwin wants books 
to buy and then to sell to another customer. He 
doesn’t have that craving to possess that besets the 
collector. It is a desperate covetousness, an insane 
envy that leads to any lengths to get the desired 
book. I know, for I know how it affected my 
brother. He never committed crime, but I know,— 
ah, I know that he resorted to means not—not 
strictly honorable.” 

“ All very interesting, Miss Dwyer, but we have 
no evidence. You see both Mr. Loft and Mr. 
Baldwin were in their rooms all night, after one 
o’clock or so.” 

“ You’ve only their word for that.” 

Kinney looked at her, startled. It was true,—if 
Loft and Baldwin had been disposed, they could 


CURRAN’S WATCH 191 

have acted in collusion, and could have accom¬ 
plished the deed more easily than any one else. If 
there were any way to get in and out of that locked 
door, Loft would know about his own house. 

Kinney had sneaking suspicions of a secret pas¬ 
sage somewhere, but his closest scrutiny had been 
unable to find any trace of such. 

He put Miss Hetty’s suggestion away in his 
brain to think about later, and said: 

“ What does Mr. Curran’s fiancee look like? ” 

“ Just a pretty young thing.” 

“ Does she look at all like Miss Fuller? ” 

“Not the least mite,—almost her opposite. 
Why?” 

“ Nothing. Why didn’t he carry her picture in 
his watch? ” 

“ I don’t know. Maybe he did. I’m told his 
w r atch was stolen from him, wasn’t it? ” 

“ It was missing when the body was found,” 
Kinney evaded, “ but he might have put it 
away himself.” 

As the pair talked, a few others had come out 
on the terrace, and the Countess, passing, heard the 
word “ watch.” 


192 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Found it?” she said, quickly, seating herself 
by Kinney. “ I told you to look for that watch.” 

“ Why,”—and Kinney looked at her curiously. 

“ Because it might easily prove indicative. And 
I know you’ve found it, Mr. Kinney! Your coun¬ 
tenance is not always under control, and I’m sure 
you’ve found it! Where was it? ” 

Kinney was taken aback, but he was quick-witted 
at times, and he replied, easily: 

“ No such luck, Countess Galaski. It may turn 
up,—but I searched several places without success.” 

Miss Hetty Dwyer, never at ease in the presence 
of the caustic Countess had walked away, and 
glancing around to be sure no one else was listening, 
the Countess went on: 

“ You would do well, Mr. Kinney, to take me 
into your confidence. I could be of real help to you.” 

Kinney was a little weary of offers of help from 
women, but he never dared neglect a possible bit 
of assistance. 

“I’ve nothing particular to confide, ma’am, but 
if you’ve any helpful information it’s your duty 
to give it out.” 

“ Not information,—merely advice. And here it 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


193 


is,—if you want it bluntly. Beware of that little 
Mrs. Knox. I know how she is pulling wool over 
your eyes—” 

“ What? ” 

Kinney was so surprised that he quite forgot 
his manners. 

“ Yes,—that’s just what she does to everybody.” 

“ Ah,” Kinney thought to himself, “ feminine 
jealousy.” 

“ I don’t care how much she flirts or with whom,” 
the lady went on, “ but I want you to be on your 
guard when she comes to giving you information 
about—about that night.” 

“ Oh, I know all she can tell me,” Kinney 
shrugged his shoulders. “ Know all about that bal¬ 
cony episode, and while it may be a straw to show 
which way the wind blows,—I don’t think it is. Nor 
can I see her husband in such a rage that he would 
poison the man who was flirting with her. In a 
frenzy of jealous passion a man might shoot or stab, 
—but he couldn’t poison.” 

“ Rubbish! ” the Countess snapped. “ I don’t 
say that he did,—but it’s foolish to say that he 
couldn’t. Whoever gave that poison to Mr. Curran 

13 


194 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


did it in some diabolically clever manner. Yet it 
was done. Now, one could do it as well as another.’’ 

“ How about some one interested in books?” 
Kinney asked, remembering Miss Dwyer’s talk. 

“ I think it’s as plausible a motive as jealousy,” 
the Countess replied. “ But why bother with 
motive,—find your criminal and then you’ll know 
the motive.” 

Kinney smiled. “ I’d be glad to find either crimi¬ 
nal or motive. It’s the most ungetatable case I ever 
handled. I can suspect everybody yet I can suspect 
nobody. Every one is apparently frank and out¬ 
spoken, yet also everybody is unwilling to talk 
about the case.” 

“ Of course nobody wants to talk about the awful 
affair if it can be helped. But I’m sure we all want 
to tell you anything you may wish to ask.” 

“ Very well, then, Countess Galaski, do you 
suspect any one,—any one at all? ” 

After a pause, the Countess said, slowly: “ Yes, 
I think I do.” 

“ Will you tell me who it is? ” 

“ It is ‘ Rosalie 

“ But—‘ Rosalie,’ that is the name of Mr. 
Curran’s divorced wife. She isn’t here.” 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


195 


“ I don’t mean Rosalie in person,—I mean the 
one who was in Mr. Curran’s mind, when he spoke 
the name of Rosalie that night.” 

“ But,—I’ve heard it rumored that Mr. Baldwin 
was disturbed when Mr. Curran mentioned that 
name.” 

“ The rumors are wrong then. It was not Mr. 
Baldwin who was self-conscious at the name 
of Rosalie.” 

“ No? Who was, then? ” 

“ That I shall not tell. I may be all wrong,—I 
wouldn’t for the world attract attention to the wrong 
person. But, take my word for it, Mr. Curran had 
no thought of Bob Baldwin, when he said, ‘ Rosalie.’ 
I thought Mr. Baldwin looked a little annoyed at 
the name of * Mr. S.’ But I’m not sure. I may be 
mistaken as to that. But to return to my well-meant 
warning, don’t believe all Mrs. Knox tells you. She 
is a spiteful little cat, and while she is not exactly 
in love with Valentine Loft, she takes delight in try¬ 
ing to stir up trouble between him and Miss Fuller.” 

“ She hasn’t succeeded as yet,” said Kinney, re¬ 
membering Loft’s valiant defence of his fiancee. 


196 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ No,—but she will if she can. She’s a little 
devil,—loves mischief for the sheer fun of it! ” 

“ Pleasant character! ” 

“ Oh, she’s so pretty and charming and innocent 
of appearance she is beloved of all.” 

Kinney went off by himself and found he had 
plenty to meditate upon until five o’clock, when he 
was due to meet Loft in the library. 

He went there, and found the master of Valhalla 
waiting for him. No one else was present, and Loft 
carefully shut the door. 

“ Mr. Kinney,” he began, “ I am in very grave 
trouble. As I promised you, I tried to obtain an 
interview with Miss Fuller. But Miss Fuller has 
gone away.” 

“ Run away! ” Kinney almost shouted. 

“ Gone away,” I said. “ Pray, be quiet. I am 
myself at my wits’ end, but I realize it is necessary 
to consider very carefully our next step.” 

“ Our next step is to find Miss Fuller.” 

“ Pm glad you agree with me. It certainly is. 
Now, Mr. Kinney, will you undertake to find her? 
Or would you prefer that I should get another—a 
private detective to do that? Also, I want no pub- 


CURRAN’S WATCH 


197 


licity. I want it given out that Miss Fuller has 
gone home for a rest,—or, gone away on a visit. 
I do not want it known that her departure was 
made hastily and secretly.” 

“ I can’t keep it so dark, Mr. Loft. We can’t 
find her without publicity. Look at the thing your¬ 
self. We find the watch in her possession, locked 
in her desk. We take the watch,—she discovers 
it is gone and she seeks safety in flight. What’s 
the answer?” 

Valentine Loft showed none of the indignation 
and anger he had displayed in the morning. 

“ I don’t know the answer,” he returned, quietly; 
“ but I do know Miss Fuller. She may be the victim 
of distressing circumstances, but there is no stigma 
of wrong possible in connection with her name. 
Now, she must be found. How shall we set 
about it? ” 


CHAPTER XI 
Pauline’s flight 

Loft had sent for Angel, feeling that he wanted 
a friend to confer with. 

“ Pauly’s gone away,” he said briefly, as Baldwin 
entered the library. 

Angel gave him a quick glance, but said, merely, 

“ Where to?” 

“ I don’t know,” Loft returned. “ In fact, 
Angel, she went without my knowing it. I tried to 
find her just now, but she has gone off in the 
little car.” 

“ Who took her? ” 

“ Bates, and Tessie went with her. The house¬ 
keeper told me all this but she knew nothing more. 
Bates ought to be back by this time, if Pauline went 
to the Railway Station, and the housekeeper thinks 
she did.” 

“ Well, we can’t wait for any Bates,” Kinney 
broke in, impatiently. “ I know, Mr. Loft, how 
you hate publicity and all that, but Miss Fuller has 
been doing queer things-” 

198 





PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


199 


“What do you mean by queer things?” Loft 
spoke quietly, but there was a steely gleam in his 
eye that Angel knew meant battle. “ Miss Fuller 
has done nothing that you know of. You have 
no proof that she took Mr. Curran’s watch, or that 
she ever saw the thing. There is a deep-minded 
criminal behind all this business, and it is not a 
woman. Some daring and ingenious villain entered 
my house, killed Hugh Curran and tried to fasten 
the blame on Miss Fuller. That’s the way I see it.” 

“ And that’s the way I should see it, if I were 
the young lady’s intended, as you are,” Kinney re¬ 
turned, dryly. “ But being a detective,—not a great 
one, but at least, a clear-headed one, I say that when 
a ‘ feather left around ’ is hidden in her own bed¬ 
room, and when it is taken from its hiding place, she 
misses it and immediately disappears herself;—then 
my clear-sightedness leads me to think she ought to 
be looked up.” 

“No one wants to ‘ look her up ’ more than I 
do,” Loft said, earnestly. “ And, as a bit of disin¬ 
terested advice, Kinney,—” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Loft, you’re not capable of 
giving disinterested advice just now. And, excuse 


200 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

me again, I don’t want it. My duty is to find Miss 
Fuller. My intention is to do it in my own way.” 

“ But, I say, Kinney,” Angel put in, “ if Mr. 
Loft wants to find the lady, I’m sure his method of 
search will be more successful than any you 
can attempt.” 

“ Sure you may be, sir, but that makes no dif¬ 
ference to me. I know my duty, and I’m going 
to do it. Now, it’s true, the hunt for Miss Fuller 
may mean publicity, may mean police procedure, but 
I’ll promise you this, I’ll keep it as quiet as I can. 
If you want to help,—where do you think she’d go, 
Mr. Loft?” 

“ Here’s the car,” Angel cried, looking from 
the window. “ Bates can surely tell us something.” 

Bates and Tessie were called in, and Loft asked 
the chauffeur what Miss Fuller had said. 

“ She sent Tessie to me,” Bates replied, “ and 
said she’d like the little car to go to the station for 
the four-forty-five. So I was at the door, and she 
and Tessie got in the car, and we went to the station. 
There she bid me get her a ticket to New York and a 
chair. I did that, and then when the train came in 
she got on it. That’s all I know, Mr. Loft.” 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


201 


“ Well, Tessie,” the detective spoke this time, 
“ what can you tell us about Miss Fuller’s journey? ” 

“ Nothing, sir,” and though not impertinent, 
Tessie looked mutinous. 

“ Detail all she said to you, as she prepared to 
go,” Kinney ordered, sternly. 

“ Why, she only said, ‘ I’m going to New York, 
Tessie. Pack me an overnight bag.’ And I did.” 

“ What did you put in it? ” 

“ Only her night things and toilet articles.” 

“ No dresses? No jewels?” 

“ No, sir, just enough for a night’s stay,—with¬ 
out dressing for dinner.” 

“ H’m,—looks bad. Now, didn’t Miss Fuller 
say a word,—while you were helping her dress,— 
about her plans? ” 

“ Not a word, sir.” 

“ Do you mean she said nothing at all,—or noth¬ 
ing about her plans? ” 

Tessie considered. “ I don’t remember her say¬ 
ing anything at all. If she did it was only to direct 
me what gown she wanted to wear,—or what shoes.” 

“ What did she wear ? ” 

“ A black Canton crepe, with cape to match,— 
and a black hat with a small veil.” 


202 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Inconspicuous costume,—naturally. She took 
a lot of money with her? ” 

“ I don’t know. She always carries a small 
handbag which she packs herself.” 

“ All her money and jewels in that, of course. 
Well, Mr. Loft, I doubt if you’ll see Miss Fuller 
again very soon.” 

“ Is that your opinion, Mr. Kinney? Be good 
enough not to express it to me again. Tessie, you 
may go. Wait a moment, tell me,—did Miss Fuller 
say nothing at all that gave you any indication of 
why she went, or how long she meant to stay ? ” 

“ No, sir, not a word.” Tessie’s eyes filled with 
tears and she resorted to her handkerchief. 

“ And,” Loft’s voice shook a little, “ did she give 
you any—any message for me? You may speak 
right out before these gentlemen.” 

“ Yes, she did! ” and now Tessie sobbed openly, 
“ she said to tell you ‘ Good-by,’ that’s all, sir, just 
‘ Good-by.’ ” 

“ Very well, Tessie, you may go.” 

Valentine Loft had perfect control now of his 
voice, and he nodded a dismissal to Bates, who stood 
at attention. 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


203 


But Angel could read the despair in his eyes, the 
distress in his tense-drawn lips, and he knew that his 
friend’s soul was tasting the torments of hell. 

Yet Loft turned a calm face to Kinney, and said, 
“ What is your plan? What would be your idea of 
efficient search? ” 

“I’ll tell you, sir. We know the lady took the 
four-forty-five to New York. We’ve only to wire 
the police authorities along the route to hold her if 
she leaves the train before she reaches the city. She 
won’t, though. In all probability, she’ll make 
straight for the metropolis, knowing she can lose 
herself there easier than in a small town. She’s a 
deep one,—that one! ” 

“ Omit your comments on the lady, if you please, 
Mr. Kinney.” Loft’s tone was icy but his eyes 
blazed fire. 

Angel looked at him with some apprehension, for 
he feared a real explosion if Kinney irritated him 
much further. 

“All right, sir. Nothing personal meant. Well, 
say we head her off in New York, and then just 
have her followed,—that’s better than an imme¬ 
diate arrest.” 


204 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Yes, much better,” said Loft, in such a dry 
way, that Angel turned quickly to look at him. And 
the slight smile on Loft’s face puzzled him. 

“ You see, Mr. Loft,” Kinney went on, “ I’m 
interested in Miss Fuller for more reasons than one. 
I may as well tell you that I heard her sobbing and 
weeping in her room,—and crying out, 4 1 must for¬ 
get! How can I forget?’ and after a time, as if 
by sheer will power, ‘I have forgotten!’ Now, I 
can construct a pretty little theory, that in a girlish 
flirtation, Miss Fuller once gave her picture to 
Mr. Curran, and-” 

“ Go, Mr. Kinney,” Loft rose and pointed to the 
door; “go, and take your pretty little theories with 
you! I may see you later,—though I’d rather not, 
unless absolutely necessary,—but in any case, I can’t 
stand any more just now. Go.” 

The upraised voice, the steady, pointing finger, 
rather awed Kinney, for there was no touch of melo¬ 
drama about Loft. He merely had reached the end 
of his rope, and said so. 

As the door closed behind the detective, Aneel 

7 o 

asked: 

“ Why did you smile, Val? ” 



PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


205 


“ At that fool detective. You know, Pauly never 
went to New York. If she took a ticket for New 
York it’s a dead certainty that she left the train 
after a few stops, and went the other way,—to Bos¬ 
ton or Albany. I know Pauline so well, that I can 
read her mental workings. If she wants to dis¬ 
appear,—and it must be, Angel, that she does,— 
then she would do it more cleverly than any one in 
the world.” 

“ You’re right,—of course. But what does it 
all mean, Val? ” 

“ I don’t know,—but it is serious, very serious. 
I shan’t let Kinney know I think it so, but it is. Any 
advice, Angel? ” 

“ Not yet,—maybe I can dope some out. But all 
my sympathy, old chap, and all my help,—at least, 
all my efforts. What can I do? ” 

“ I don’t know. I never in my life felt so 
helpless. What’s all that about Pauly’s crying in her 
room,—and wanting to ‘ forget ’ ? ” 

“ Do you suppose,—you know, Val, if I’m to 
help we must be entirely frank,—do you suppose she 
did know Curran before? ” 

“ I know she didn’t,—for she told me so.” Loft 


206 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


spoke simply. “ I shall always believe her word 
against all the witnesses or evidence in the whole 
world. If she had known Curran before, she would 
have told me so.” 

“ Of course,” said Angel, but his acquiescence 
was based upon his desire to agree with his friend 
rather than on his faith in feminine candor. 

“ What about that Rosalie and Mr. S. business,” 
Loft went on, wrinkling his eyebrows. “ I’ve 
never spoken of it before, but it seemed to me Pauly 
winced at one of those names.” 

“ Which one—? ” 

“ I don't remember. Mr. S., I suppose,—there's 
nothing to alarm a woman in another woman’s 
name.” 

“ Was she alarmed? ” 

“ Not quite, but I'm so sensitive to any change 
of expression on her face, that I thought I observed 
a little tremor of surprise or annoyance. It probably 
meant nothing,—” 

“ But it would presuppose a knowledge of 
Curran in some way,” Angel added, meditatively. 
“ Suppose she did know him before, Val; suppose 
she didn't tell you of it,—would it make any differ¬ 
ence in your feeling toward her? ” 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


207 


“In my feeling toward Pauline! I should say 
not! Why, if she told me all the lies in the cata¬ 
logue,—or wherever lies grow,—it would make no 
difference in my feelings toward her! She couldn’t 
do it,—Pauline is incapable of a real lie,—but if she 
did,—I’d love her exactly the same,—more, if it 
were possible,—which it isn’t. You see, Angel, you 
don’t know from experience what love is. The 
kind of love I mean. The love that is only pos¬ 
sible between—’’ 

“ Yes, I know,—two souls that beat as one.’’ 

“ No, two souls that know how to beat as one. 
My boy, all hearts can love,—but only hearts that 
have accompanying brains can get the most and 
best out of love.” 

“ Well, as long as you have faith in her—” 

“ Which will be as long as I breathe. Nothing 
could ever rock my faith in Pauly. She knows this, 
—and that is why her disappearance alarms me. 
That is why I know it is very serious. She knows 
I would forgive her anything—” 

“ Even murder? ” 

“ It’s hard to forgive you that speech, Angel,— 
but, yes, even murder. It would be a poor love that 


208 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


wouldn’t forgive crime. That would be easier to 
forgive than some other things.” 

“ Such as?” 

“ Deception,—untruthfulness—” 

“ Lying-” 

“ Yes,—real lying,—with intent to deceive me. 
But I would forgive Pauline that,—anything,— 
anything —” 

“ Then she will come back.” 

“ No,—she will not come back. She told Tessie 
to tell me good-by. But I shall find her.” 

“ She might have told Tessie to say that; if she 
was merely off on a short errand.” 

“No; she has told me twice,—that if ever she 
disappeared suddenly, and sent me the mere message, 
4 Good-by,’ that I never should see her again. I 
only laughed at the speech,—but I see now that she 
meant it.” 

“ Then she had a secret, Val.” 

“ It may be.” Loft looked straight into 
Angel’s eyes. “ Now to find her,” he said, after a 
moment’s pause. 

“ Where do you think she can be? ” 

“ I know where she is.” 

“ And you can find her? ” 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


209 


“ No; but I know this. She started on the New 
York train. She got off at some way station. She 
crossed the tracks and took a train on the other side, 
in the other direction, and after travelling some time 
she will get out at some inconspicuous town or vil¬ 
lage,—where she knows some friend who will hide 
her successfully for as long as she wishes to 
be hidden.” 

“ Good Heavens, then how can you find her? ” 

“ The hardest situation to solve,—I know that. 
But she can never be traced through her bankers or 
her home people or her lawyers. I am sure of that.” 

“ I didn’t know Pauline was so extraordinarily 
clever.” 

“ It isn’t so much cleverness as common sense. 
A more ingenious brain might plan to hide in a big 
city,—it is conceded the best place. But it isn’t. 
Granting a discreet and loving friend, in a secluded 
country home, Pauly’s plan is the best. And she has 
plenty of such friends. But I shall find her.” 

“ Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.” 

“ But I want to find her. I want Pauline.” 

“ Where is her aunt, now?” 

“ In the New York house. But she is ill and 


14 


2U 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ He did,” Stella persisted, but the Countess 
said: 

“ Hush that, Stella. It was the merest chance 
question, because he was laughing about his own 
untidy ways. And Lord knows he left his own 
bedroom in a mess. Papers and ashes and things 
strewed all over.” 

“ I think the queerest thing,” Anna said, “ was 
that when he appeared, Pauline stared straight at 
him, and—she was at the coffee urn,—the cup she 
was filling overflowed all over the tray. You 
neeedn’t tell me she had never seen him before.” 

“ But she hadn’t,” the Countess averred, “ she 
told me so herself.” 

“ I’ll tell you what,” and Stella’s eyes beamed 
with excitement, “ likely as not she corresponded 
with him without ever having seen him! You know 
how girls will write to actors and authors whom 
they’ve never seen.” 

“ Yes,” cried Anna, “ and she sent him her pic¬ 
ture,—years ago,—and she didn’t want Val to know 
about it—” 

Kinney’s eyes shone. He was getting what he 
called to himself ‘ great dope.’ And if all these 
things were so,—well,—more might be so— 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 


213 


Angel Bob Baldwin favored the detective with 
an interview later. 

“ Don’t think for a minute, Mr. Kinney,” he 
said, “ that I want to put any brake on the wheels of 
justice. But I do want you to beware how you 
manage that matter of Miss Fuller’s disappearance. 
You know as well as I do that she never killed that 
man. Now, you’re here to discover a murderer; 
not to pry into the secrets of a lady’s private life. 
If you must interview Miss Fuller, go ahead and do 
it,—if you can find her. But as to raising a hue 
and cry over her absence, you’ve no right to do it.” 

“ Leave it to me, Mr. Baldwin,” said Kinney, 
airily. “ I’ve learned a bit from the chatter of the 
women here, and I’ll run this thing in my own way, 
if you please.” 

“ Do; but for your own sake let it be a common- 
sense way. You don’t want to be a laughing stock 
among your own colleagues, do you? ” 

This shaft went home, for more than once 
Kinney’s mistakes had been a source of mirth 
to some. 

“ Well, I’ll give you one bit of advice, and you 
can take it or leave it.” Bob’s tone was light, but 


214 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


he gave the detective a meaning look. “ When you 
want to ‘ search for the woman,’ don’t go after an 
innocent and lovely lady, but find the divorced 
wife of Hugh Curran. Do you know anything 
about her ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Of course you don’t. And she may have had 
nothing to do with the whole affair, but if I were 
a detective, the very first person I should want to 
interview would be the one-time Mrs. Hugh Curran.” 

“ Mrs. Hugh Dwyer, you mean.” 

“ Yes, of course, it would be before he took 
the later name. Now Mr. Kinney, take that tip for 
what it’s worth,—but I can’t help thinking that she 
could give )^ou, at least, some information.” 

“ It’s a good idea, Mr. Baldwin,” the detective 
said, slowly. “ I’d have to send a man out to Reno, 
I suppose—” 

“ Well that isn’t at the ends of the earth.” 

“No; he could make it in five days, and wire 
his report. A week would cover it.” 

“ Don’t do it because I say so. It’s merely a sug- 

4 

gestion. You see, Mr. Kinney, I’m a friend of 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 21 5 

Mr. Loft’s and I want to do something,—anything 
to help him in this horrible situation.” 

“ Yes, sir. Mr. Loft has good, staunch friends. 
Now, you and Mr. Knox are both racking your 
brains to help him,—so is Mr. Mears, for that mat¬ 
ter,—but Mr. Mears is more interested in doing 
detective work himself than in doing something to 
help Mr. Loft. You see what I mean, sir? ” 

“ I do, Kinney, and perhaps the efforts of Mr. 
Knox and myself will amount to more than young 
Mears’ sleuthing. By the way, what is Mr. 
Knox doing?” 

“ His idea is to get more clues. As if there were 
any, after all these days. But he putters around in 
Mr. Curran’s bedroom,—I mean the room he occu¬ 
pied in this house that night.” 

“ Does he find anything? ” 

“ No, sir. He pores over the book catalogues 
Mr. Curran had, and he mauls over the waste-basket 
occasionally. But he’s promised not to remove or 
disturb anything. You never can tell when you 
want to check up a feather, you know.” 

“ A feather?” 


214 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

he gave the detective a meaning look. “ When you 
want to ‘ search for the woman/ don’t go after an 
innocent and lovely lady, but find the divorced 
wife of Hugh Curran. Do you know anything 
about her ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Of course you don’t. And she may have had 
nothing to do with the whole affair, but if I were 
a detective, the very first person I should want to 
interview would be the one-time Mrs. Hugh Curran.” 

“ Mrs. Hugh Dwyer, you mean.” 

“ Yes, of course, it would be before he took 
the later name. Now Mr. Kinney, take that tip for 
what it’s worth,—but I can’t help thinking that she 
could give you, at least, some information.” 

“ It’s a good idea, Mr. Baldwin,” the detective 
said, slowly. “ I’d have to send a man out to Reno, 
I suppose—” 

“ Well that isn’t at the ends of the earth.” 

“No; he could make it in five days, and wire 
his report. A week would cover it.” 

“ Don’t do it because I say so. It’s merely a sug- 

j 

gestion. You see, Mr. Kinney, I’m a friend of 


PAULINE’S FLIGHT 215 

Mr. Loft’s and I want to do something,—anything 
to help him in this horrible situation.” 

“ Yes, sir. Mr. Loft has good, staunch friends. 
Now, you and Mr. Knox are both racking your 
brains to help him,—so is Mr. Mears, for that mat¬ 
ter,—but Mr. Mears is more interested in doing 
detective work himself than in doing something to 
help Mr. Loft. You see what I mean, sir? ” 

“ I do, Kinney, and perhaps the efforts of Mr. 
Knox and myself will amount to more than young 
Mears’ sleuthing. By the way, what is Mr. 
Knox doing?” 

“ His idea is to get more clues. As if there were 
any, after all these days. But he putters around in 
Mr. Curran’s bedroom,—I mean the room he occu¬ 
pied in this house that night.” 

“ Does he find anything? ” 

“ No, sir. He pores over the book catalogues 
Mr. Curran had, and he mauls over the waste-basket 
occasionally. But he’s promised not to remove or 
disturb anything. You never can tell when you 
want to check up a feather, you know.” 

“A feather?” 


216 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 




“ Yes; * feathers left around ’ has come to be a 
by-word with us,—meaning tiny clues.” , 

“ Oh, yes, I remember. Well, Kinney, if Mr. 
Knox finds any important feathers let me know. 
My deductions are often better than my discoveries.” 

“ All right, Mr. Baldwin. And, I’ll think it 
over, and like as not I’ll try out that Reno plan.” 

“ Do,” said Angel, little dreaming what that try¬ 
out would produce! 


CHAPTER XII 


WITH MARY MALDEN 

By noon next day no word had been heard of 
Pauline. Loft called up her New York home, and 
inquired, guardedly, as to conditions there. He 
learned that Pauline’s aunt was not well, and was 
unusually nervous. But as no definite cause was 
assigned for the lady’s nervousness and as no undue 
curiosity was shown regarding Miss Fuller’s move¬ 
ments, Loft concluded the quiet household had heard 
of no cause for alarm. 

Without hope of much information he called up 
various mutual friends and also her lawyer, but he 
could get no hint or trace of what had become of 
his lost love. 

Valentine Loft had ample opportunity to pursue 
his vaunted policy of “ Do nothing and all will be 
done,” but somehow, in this crisis the maxim seemed 
to him to lose its force. 

He remained away from the dining-room, lunch¬ 
ing from a tray in the library, and to him came 
Stella Lawrence. 


217 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


218 

“ May I come in, Val, dear? ” she said, trailing 
her scarves through the half-open door. 

“I suppose so,” he said, wearily; “ but don’t 
chatter about Pauline,—I can’t stand it.” 

“No, I won’t. What are you going to do about 
her—about finding her, I mean? ” 

“ I’m just going to find her, that’s all. I shall 
never give up the search and I must succeeed, 
sooner or later.” 

“Val,—why do you care for her so? If any 
one I loved ran away from me, I shouldn’t try to 
get them back.” 

“ Stella, didn’t you hear me ask you not to talk 
of Pauline? ” 

“ No, I won’t. Isn’t Miss Dwyer queer, Val? ” 

“ Yes,—she doesn’t interest me. I’m very sorry 
for her, but she is a good deal of a nuisance about.” 

“ And she gossips so. What do you suppose 
she said about Pauly? ” 

“ I don’t care to hear.” 

“ Well, she said that Mr. Curran must have 
corresponded with Pauline without knowing her 
personally,—and she sent him her picture and 
all that.” 


“ Yes?” 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


219 


“Don’t you care, Val? Don’t you care that 
Pauline knew that man before, and told you she 
didn’t? Why, it proves Pauly a naughty fibber— 
or should one say fibberess? ” 

Stella trailed across to Loft’s chair, and sat on 
the arm of it. 

“ You’d better forget her, Val. I know Pauline, 
—truly, she isn’t worthy of you. Why,—listen,—I 
happen to know that she was in Mr. Curran’s room 
that night,—and that she came out of it at half-past 
two in the morning.” 

Loft reached forward and pushed a bell button. 

“ Go back to your seat, Stella,” he said, “ some 
one is coming.” 

“ I don’t care,” and Stella remained on the 
chair arm. 

Loft rose, and in a moment Mrs. Jennings, the 
housekeeper, appeared. 

“ Mrs. Jennings,” Loft said, “ Miss Lawrence 
is leaving on the four o’clock train. Send Tessie to 
help her with her packing and instruct Bates to have 
the little car ready.” 

“ Yes, sir,” and Mrs. Jennings went away. 

“Val! How dare you? Are you driving me 
away? Me,—Stella? ” 


220 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


But Valentine Loft apparently neither saw nor 
heard her. He sat at a desk and began to write 
some letters. 

One more glance at his stony profile and Stella 
Lawrence knew she had no choice as to her next step. 

She went dejectedly from the room, her anger 
and indignation lost in a deeper feeling of 
shamed regret. 

Meeting Anna in the hall she told her she had 
had a telegram and had to run away at once,—to 
another house party. 

“ And I’m glad to get away from this chamber 
of horrors/’ she added. “ Are you staying on? ” 

“ I don’t know.” Anna looked perplexed. 
“ Now Ned says we’ll go and then he stays on. We 
can go if we like—I mean the authorities won’t 
keep us now.” 

“ Then I should think you’d go,” Stella said, 
lightly, as she trailed off to her room to do 
her packing. 

Valentine Loft sat alone until he heard the car 
depart with Stella in it. Then he sent a message to 
the Countess asking an interview. 

She came to him. 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


221 


“ We can be alone here,” she said, gently. “ You 
poor boy, I wish I could help you.” 

“ Perhaps you can, Countess,” he returned. ‘‘If 
so, it will be by utter frankness. Did you see Pauline 
at all the night Mr. Curran died? I mean after we 
had all said good-night.” 

Countess Galaski looked straight at him. 

“You want me to tell you? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ Well, then, Val, it’s hard to say positively, but 
I did see a woman in the hall that night,—who 
looked like Pauline. That’s all I’m prepared 
to state.” 

“ Please state all you know. It will help me 
more, Countess, to know the truth than to have my 
feelings spared.” 

“ Then, Valentine, I can only say that while I 
am ready to state it was Pauline,—I would not be 
willing to swear to it. You see the difference—? 
Were it a casual question, I should reply, ‘ Yes, it 
was Pauline.’ But if it is a weighty question, one 
on which other issues hang, I will not say positively.” 

“ What made you think it was she? ” 

“ The hall was dimly lighted, and I saw a vague 


222 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


figure of Pauline’s height and general effect. She 
wore a dark gown and a cape that hung in soft folds. 
It was such a cape as Pauline possesses, yet that is 
not proof positive. Tessie could have worn that.” 

“ Tessie is much of Pauline’s figure.” 

“ Yes,—but, Val, you asked for the truth,—it 
wasn’t Tessie. It was a woman of the world. She 
carried herself as such. She walked stealthily,— 
but steadily,—and she went in at the door of 
Pauline’s room.” 

“ Having come from Hugh Curran’s room? ” 

“ That I can’t say. She came from that direc¬ 
tion,—and I heard a door close—that seemed to be 
his—oh, Valentine, don’t make me tell these things! 
What do they mean ? ” 

“ That’s what I must find out, Countess. They 
mean strange things, I’ve no doubt,—but they do not 
mean that Pauline is in any way implicated in the 
murder of Hugh Curran.” 

“ Oh, of course not—” 

“ Don’t say, ‘ oh, of course not ’! ” Loft’s nerves 
were beginning to give way. 

“What shall I say?” The Countess looked 
bewildered. 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


223 


“ Say you know she couldn’t have been. For 
you do know it,—no one can help knowing it. Now 
I want all the information I can get about these 

9 

circumstances, so I can unearth their explanation. 
Help me, Countess.” 

Beneath her dictatorial manner, Countess Galaski 
carried a most kind heart. She looked at Loft com¬ 
passionately, and her sympathy went out to him. 
But her judgment told her that candor was best. 

“ Then I will tell you, Valentine, what I had 
expected to tell no one. Pauline,—for it was 
Pauline,—carried in her hand something that glit¬ 
tered. Something that might have been that watch. 
Only for an instant, when a straggling glint of light 
struck it, did I see it, and then, clasping the thing 
in her hand, she went into her own room.” 

Loft, his face stern and set, listened intently. 

“ Thank you, Countess,” he said, after a mo¬ 
ment’s pause, “ for telling me. My only desire in . 
life is to find Pauline and tell her I love her. The 
watch, the picture in it,—even the distressing cir¬ 
cumstances of LIugh Curran’s death, are to me of no 
consequence compared to the finding of Pauline.” 

“ And you deem her innocent? ” 


224 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Countess, I sent Stella away from the house 
for an aspersion on Pauline’s innocence. I do not 
resent your speech,—only because I know you deem 
her innocent yourself.” 

“ I do,” she returned, and if she hadn’t before, 
the implicit confidence Loft felt swayed her 
own opinion. 

“ There are some things to be explained,” Loft 
admitted, “ but they can be explained only by 
Pauline herself. And, so, until I can ask her, I 
put them aside. I do not speculate on their meaning.” 

“ But, Val, you must remember, there are out¬ 
siders who do not feel as you do about it all. Who 
are ready to put the worst construction on 
Pauline’s flight—” 

“ Of course, Countess, dear. Those are the 
people I have to circumvent, whose plans I have to 
frustrate, whose guns I must spike. And I shall 
do it,—why, I can do anything to save Pauline’s 
name from the slightest stain,—to find again my 
darling—my love.” 

He almost seemed to forget the Countess’ pres¬ 
ence, as his firm, strong mouth, set in determination 
and a glow of lovelight came into his fine eyes. 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


225 


“ You’re centuries behind your time, Val,” she 
said, “ you belong in the age of chivalry. You’d 
tourney to the death for the woman you love/’ 

“ Any real man would,” he returned, “ though 
perhaps,” he looked a little whimsical, “ he wouldn’t 
say so much about it.” 

“ I’m an old woman, Val, dear,—you may con¬ 
fide your feelings to me as much as you like.” 

“ Oh, I’m not ashamed of my desperate love for 
Pauly,—but declarations of it naturally bore others. 
However, Countess, you’re so delightfully under¬ 
standing, that I let myself go. But, now as to this 
tale of yours? You know a lot about—things in 
general,—can you trump up any reason why Pauly 
should visit Hugh Curran in his room,—or why she 
should come away with his watch? ” 

“ None, unless,—” she hesitated, “ unless she 
had given him the picture long ago, in foolish flir¬ 
tation,—and wanted to get it back,—and did so.” 

“Not good enough,—she told me she had never 
seen him before. I believe her. My theory is more 
toward her doing it all for somebody else. 

“ Suppose somebody who had Pauline’s picture— 

long ago,—gave it to Curran,—and she thought if I 
15 


226 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


learned of it,—say it was Angel,—or some equally 
dear friend, I’d be angry at him—or maybe it was 
a woman—” 

“ Valentine, you’re drivelling. You can’t even 
voice the theory you’re trying to pick out of the air. 
Now, stop surmising and mulling over reasons or 
motives and stick to facts. Where do you think 
Pauline is? ” 

“ I think she is staying with some dear and 
true friend, who lives somewhere off the beaten 
paths, and that friend, sworn to secrecy, will keep 
Pauly in hiding as long as she wishes to be kept. 
It’s an easy guess,—where else could she be? ” 

“ I daresay you’re right. How long will she 
stay there? ” 

“ Until I can get to her,—or get a message to 
her to come to me.” 

“ Would she come? ” 

'‘If she could get the message. You see, she 
thinks,—bless her heart,—that I’m upset over the 
miserable business,—and she must think that the 
finding of the watch in her desk has been an unpar¬ 
donable sin. Silly darling! As if she could do an 
unpardonable thing—to me.” 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


227 


“ Then the question of Pauline’s whereabouts is 
at a deadlock.” The Countess spoke seriously “ Do 
you realize what that means ? ” 

“ Lots of unpleasantness,—I’m sure. But it does 
not mean that she will be found—by the authorities, 
until she gets good and ready. It’ll be all I can do 
to find her.” 

He sighed. 

“ How are you going to set about it? ” 

“ Haven’t the slightest idea,—yet. But an in¬ 
spiration will come to me before long. You see, 
she’s not in the vicinity of New York City at all. 
She’s up in northern New York or in New England.” 

“ Quite an area to search.” 

“ Yes,” he said, laconically. 

And Valentine Loft was right. 

In a tiny, elm-shaded New England village, 
Pauline Fuller was at that moment sitting in a 
wicker chair on the back veranda of a pleasant 
country home. And she looked sadly in need of the 
comfort and consolation of the knowledge of her 
lover’s faith in her. 

“ And so you see, Mary,” she was saying, “ I 
never want to see Val again. I couldn’t hope for his 


228 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


forgiveness,—in his eyes it is crime,—nothing less. 
No power could make him understand my motive,— 
or see it all as I do. Oh, do you suppose they’ll send 
out detectives after me,—and all that? ” 

“ Don’t think about it, Pauline. At least, not 
now. We’ll have to think pretty soon,—a lot,—but 
today, do rest and try to calm your nerves.” 

“ I’m not nervous,” Pauline declared, “ I’m only 
wretchedly miserable. Oh, why did I ever do it? I 
can’t live—Mary, I can’t live without Val! ” 

“ Well, dear, if you get yourself all worked up, 
you’ll have hysterics and make a lot of trouble for 
me. Now, get your cape, we’re going for a long 
ride in the country. And during the ride, you’re 
not to mention these things. Then we’ll come home, 
have a nice cosy little dinner, and after that we’ll 
sit down and thrash out the whole thing. You. 
haven’t told me all yet, you know.” 

Mary Malden, an old school friend of Pauline’s 
mother, was a spinster, and was of the type known 
as salt of the earth. She had been the first one 
Pauline thought of in her mad flight, and she had 
done just exactly what Loft had surmised. She 
had passed three stations on the road to New York 


WITH MARY MALDEN 229 

City, had left the train, turned around and retraced 
her path, going on up, in the region of the Berk¬ 
shire hills, and had found a welcome in Mary 
Malden’s heart and home. 

The house was a small one, though comfortable, 
but the heart was one of the largest and kindest God 
ever made. 

At first, Miss Malden would listen to no explana¬ 
tion, no word of trouble,—she only took Pauline in 
as a mother would take a long lost child. 

And now, nearly twenty-four hours of coddling 
had restored Pauline’s poise physically,—but her 
mind and soul were more perturbed than ever, and 
she longed for the time when Mary would listen 
and advise. 

During the drive in Miss Malden’s unpretentious 
little car, Pauline tried to respond to her kind 
friend’s efforts at conversation, but it was so diffi¬ 
cult that her hostess left her to her own thoughts,— 
and they were not pleasant ones. 

“Why did I ever do it?” she asked herself 
over and over,—yet could find no answer. 

“ Lassitude is rather becoming to you, Pauline,” 
Mary said, at last, in a vain hope to rouse a fleeting 
interest in her appearance. 


230 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Lassitude isn’t the word,” Pauline tried to 
smile. “ I’m anything but inert. I’ve energy enough 
—to—to sink a ship.” 

“ Use it then to pull yourself together. Look 
here, honey, if you have a nervous collapse, or go 
into a decline,—or have some sort of foolish psycho¬ 
neurasthenia,—or whatever the latest fad is.—I’ll 
pack you off to a sanitarium. I can’t have invalids 
about. People in trouble are my hobby, but people 
who are ill give me the creeps.” 

“ Not a bad idea, Mary,” Pauline said, “ the sani¬ 
tarium, I mean. Couldn’t you commit me to some 
nice one where they keep patients in utter seclusion? 
Tell them I’m a little bit irresponsible, you know,—a 
trifle unbalanced,—and make them promise to keep 
it all confidential. It could be done, I’m sure.” 

“ And it will be done, if you don’t brace up and 
behave yourself! Moreover, I shan’t stop at a sani¬ 
tarium, I’ll put you in an out-and-out lunatic asylum 
—in a straight-jacket! ” 

“ I rather wish you would. Say, in solitary con¬ 
finement,—then the police couldn’t get at me! ” 

“ The police! Good heavens, girl, is it as bad 
as that? ” 

“ Yes,” Pauline said, slowly, “ as bad as that.” 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


231 


And when at last they turned homeward, when 
at last dinner was over and Pauline had told Mary 
all, all her pitiful story, Miss Malden agreed it was 
as bad as that. 

At Valhalla, matters seemed to be at a standstill. 

Detective Kinney had taken on a new and some¬ 
what blustering manner. He dictated to everybody, 
except to Valentine Loft,—somehow, he couldn’t 
quite compass that. 

Angel Bob resented dictation. 

“ Make him stop, Val,” he said, after a few 
days of it; “I won’t be told what to do and what 
not to do by a whipper-snapper of a detective that 
can’t detect a single thing! ” 

“ There doesn’t seem to be anything to detect,” 
Loft said, with an abstracted air. “ Except what 
has become of Pauly, and I’m going to detect 
that myself.” 

“ So you’ve said, repeatedly. But she’s been 
gone five days now, and you’ve made no headway. 
Can’t you get busy? ” 

“ I’ve laid my plans,—they’re being carried out. 


232 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


They may work, Angel,—and, Lord help me. they 
may not. If not,—the case is hopeless.” 

“ Unless Pauline returns of her own accord.” 

“ She never will. Now, Angel, don’t you stay 
here any longer than you wish. The police have 
practically released us all from surveillance,—that is, 
all except myself—” 

“You! Since when have you been under 
suspicion? ” 

“ Oh, Friend Kinney has trumped up a theory 
that Pauline stole the watch because it was evidence 
of a disgraceful past, and that I killed Curran be¬ 
cause,—oh, I don’t know why,—to wipe out the 
same past, I suppose.” 

“ What rot.” 

“What theory isn’t? Can you suggest, Angel, 
can you invent a sound theory of Hugh Curran’s 
death ? Can you imagine a motive that would fit the 
case or a method that would fit the facts ? The police 
have really shelved the thing,—though they don’t 
say so. Miss Dwyer wants to go home and I don’t 
blame her. The Knoxes want to go,—at least, Anna 
does. I’m not sure about Ned,—he’s so moody.” 

“ I say, Val,” Angel looked thoughtful,“ you 
never suspected Ned,—did you?” 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


233 


“ No, I never did. Nor you, nor Roly, nor my¬ 
self! Perhaps I’m the most likely suspect of the 
four, though.” 

“Guess we’ll have to come back to old Meredith.” 

“ As likely as anybody, I suppose. But, you 
didn’t invent a theory.” 

“ Tell me how a real live murderer got in and out 
of a locked room and I’ll do the rest of the theory,” 
Angel retorted, and the subject was dropped. 

A little later, Kinney appeared, bristling with 
excitement and swelling with importance. 

“I’ve had a report,—” he began, and paused; 
“ I’d rather make it to you alone, Mr. Loft.” 

“ Oh, go ahead,” Loft returned, with little show 
of interest. “ Mr. Baldwin is my friend, he may 
hear whatever you have to tell me.” 

“ The report is from Reno,” Kinney said, a little 
sullenly. “ Shall I go ahead? ” 

“From Reno?” Loft cried, startled out of his 
usual calm by this unexpected disclosure. 

“ Yes, sir,” Kinney said, satisfied now with the 
sensation he was creating. “ A telegram from the 
man I sent out there to investigate the circumstances 
of Mr. Hugh Dwyer’s divorce—some years ago.” 


234 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Mr. Dwyer’s divorce,—has it any bearing on 
the case? ” Loft said. 

“ I’ll read it to you,—no, you read it yourself.” 

He handed over the yellow paper, and Angel 
noted that it was a long telegram, perhaps a night 
letter. 

Either Valentine Loft read very slowly, or he 
read the screed several times, for it seemed to both 
Kinney and Bob that he would never raise his eyes 
from the typewritten lines. 

Watching closely, they saw his eyes return again 
and again to the top and travel slowly across the 
lines to the bottom, only to repeat the performance. 

“ What is it, Val?” Baldwin asked at last, un¬ 
able to stand it longer. 

Loft raised his eyes then and stared at Bob, 
unseeing. 

“ Tell me, old chap,” Angel persisted, longing to 
snatch the paper himself. 

Then the two men saw such an expression of 
agony in the dark eyes as neither had ever before 
seen in mortal man. 

An effort to speak proved futile; Valentine Loft 
was speechless. 


WITH MARY MALDEN 


235 


With a sudden nervous jerk he tore the paper 
across and across, again and again, until it was the 
tiniest scraps. 

“ That doesn’t matter,” Kinney said, comfort¬ 
ably, “ we can get duplicates from the office. It’s 
a report copied from the Reno records of Hugh 
Dwyer’s divorce from his wife, nearly six years 
ago. His wife, whom he had married about eight 
months previous, was Miss Pauline Fuller, of New 
York City. The same lady we are now trying to 
locate. I hope we shall be able to find her,—for 
more reasons than one.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 

“I hope to Heaven you will be able to find 
her/’ said Loft, agreeing to the detective’s wish, but 
staring at him still, with that blank, unseeing gaze. 
“ But just now, Mr. Kinney, I’ll ask you to leave 
me to myself for a time. You must realize that 
your news is a great surprise to me,—and I may 
have to—readjust my plans somewhat.” 

“ Plan any way you like, Mr. Loft,” Kinney 
said, almost cheerily, “ we have enough data now 
to go ahead with.” 

“ Hold on,” Angel cried out, “ are you sure of 
this tale you tell, Mr. Kinney? Don’t let him ‘go 
ahead,’ Val, until we check up on this thing.” 

“ No necessity for that, Mr. Baldwin. The 
agent we sent to Reno is a capable and experienced 
man. He would not send that definite information 
unless he was certain it was true. And, you must 
admit the circumstances all go to prove it. Here’s 
the divorced wife of Hugh Curran—” 

“ Mr. Kinney, will you leave this room before I 

236 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


237 


put you out? ” Loft’s face was menacing, his tone 
was desperate. 

“ Why, yes, Mr. Loft, I’ll go. But I’m counting 
on finding you here when I want you. Your heroics 
are well done,—but, I’m not so sure you didn’t 
know all this before, and—” 

Loft suddenly jumped from his chair, his eyes 
blazing, and Kinney, really frightened at his ap¬ 
proach, fled from the room. 

“Angel, what does it mean?” and Valentine 
Loft looked despairingly at his friend. 

“ I don’t know, Val, but it must be true. As 
Kinney says, such detailed and authentic infor¬ 
mation must be a statement of facts.” 

Loft looked up quickly, sensing a certain lack of 
sympathy in Baldwin’s voice. 

“ That will do, Angel,” he said, coldly, “ and 
forgive me if I ask you to leave me alone for a bit. 
I’ve a lot to think out.” 

Without a word, Baldwin rose, and Loft added: 

“ I suppose Kinney will spread the news broad¬ 
cast. That can’t be helped. Do all you can for 
me, Angel.” 

“ Sure,” said Bob, and went on out. 

Then Valentine Loft faced the situation. 


238 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


At first, his mind refused to work at all. His 
brain was stunned, dazed, from the knowledge that 
had come to him. 

His abhorrence of divorce was so strong,—so 
deep-seated in his nature, that the mere idea of 
connecting it with Pauline was almost impossible. 
Pauline,—his Pauly,—a divorced woman! And 
from Hugh Curran! It was incredible,—it was 
almost laughable! There was some mistake, of 
course. Another Pauline Fuller,—yes, that must be 
it. He would prove it,—he vowed he would prove 
it. That satisfied, smirking detective should eat his 
own words! 

Loft paced up and down the room, his strides 
increasing in length as his mind worked itself up 
into a fury against the man who had dared pretend 
that married Pauline Fuller was his Pauly! 

But rushing thoughts surged through his brain. 
Curiously, one of the first was the expression on 
Hugh Curran’s face as he said to Pauline on that 
dreadful evening, “ Are you, too, untidy about your 
bureau drawers, Miss Fuller? ” or some such thing 
as that. Who but a man who had been a woman’s 
husband would think of saying such a thing? Her 
husband! Pauline’s husband! 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


239 


Loft tore up and down the library, his brain 
seething, his hands clenched and his face crimson 
with rushing blood. 

It could not be! His adored, his darling, never 
could have been the wife of any man! She was 
pledged to him,—all her sweet, girlish beauty was 
his own,—Curran!—divorced! 

He dropped into a chair, exhausted. Slowly his 
face paled to a chalky white as his brain began to 
realize—to straighten things out, and to face the 
appalling truth. 

It must be faced. He must understand that his 
Pauline had been the wife of Hugh Curran,—that 
she had been divorced,—and—that she had kept 
these facts from him. 

He knew better than to doubt the truth of it all. 
He knew there was not the slightest hope of a mis¬ 
take,—not the tiniest loophole of escape from the 
facts. He knew that he had to meet the situation, 
grapple it, wrestle with it,—and throw it,—or, 
be thrown! 

He faced it. And as his thoughts ran riot, a 
dozen hints or memories came to help prove the case. 

That; “ Rosalie ” business. Miss Hetty had said 


240 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

that Curran called his wife Rosalie or Rosy,— 
though that was not her name. A nickname or pet 
name, then, for Pauline,—perhaps because of the 
rosy cheeks she had had then. 

Then! Nowadays, her cheeks were always pale, 
—so that she indulged in a touch of rouge, 
sometimes. 

And that evening, Curran had said: “ Rosalie ,— 
does that mean anything to any one here? ” 

And Pauline had moved restlessly,—he had seen 
it. And when Curran came in that day,—Pauline 
had let the cup she was filling overflow on the table. 

Still,—Pauline had told him,—her clear eyes 
looking into his own, that she never had seen Hugh 
Curran before. 

Ah,—his quick wits understood that. She never 
had. The man she had known was Hugh Dwyer. 
Curran was a new name to her. 

Thinking deeply, Loft decided that Pauline did 
not know who Curran was until he arrived at 
the house. 

Few knew the novelist’s real name, and Loft 
remembered how he had jestingly described Curran’s 
appearance in any way but the real one. Then, too, 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


241 


if Pauly didn’t know that Dwyer had changed his 
name and had become an author, of course, she had 
no reason to suspect that the invited celebrity would 
turn out to be her— 

Every time Loft’s train of thought led him back 
to the awful truth,—and every time he was crushed 
and broken anew. 

It was bad enough that Pauline had been mar¬ 
ried,—it was worse, in his eyes, that she had been 
divorced,—but—she had deceived him about it. 

And, so,—when Curran came that day, she 
recognized him,—and forgot what she was pour¬ 
ing—and—oh, yes, he asked her to walk in the 
garden—alone with him. Oh, yes,—so he did. 

And he had said “ Rosalie,”—playing with 
her, as a cat with a mouse. 

And he had flashed his watch open, that she 
might see the picture. And she did. Oh, yes. 

And then—she had gone to his room,—that 
night—after two o’clock—well,—she had a right to 
—or, didn’t she? 

His brain raced on. She had gone to his room, 
—to ask for the picture,—and he—probably refused, 
—and then—she—his brain was working automati- 


16 


242 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


cally now, quite independent of his mind or heart,— 
and then she killed him—why, of course Pauly killed 
him, she was the one who had advocated poison 
from the start. 

And then she took the watch and went back to 
her room and hid the watch, and that meddling 
detective had hunted it out! 

Confound him, why couldn’t he leave Pauly 
alone ? 

Quite calm now, Loft went across the room to 
where a large silver-framed photograph of Pauline 
stood on a table. 

He picked it up and gazed at it with a loving 
reverence. 

“ My darling,” he said softly, “ my blessed little 
girl, you are mine, and I love you—more than ever. 
Why did you run away from me ? Didn’t you know, 
dear heart, there is nothing I wouldn’t forgive you? 
Nothing! Don’t you know what that means? It 
means you can deceive me, you can commit crime, 
you can do anything,—and you are still my own, 
my Best Beloved. 

“ That’s what love means, dear. It isn’t love if 
it dies or even wanes because of—because of any- 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


243 


thing at all. Now, Sweetheart, my first task is to 1 
find you,—my next,—to—to take care of you and 
protect you. 

“Where are you, Pauline? How can I get 
word to you? I remember how you looked,—how 
solemn, yes, sad, the day you told me that when 
you sent me just the message, ‘ Good-by,’ it would 
mean good-by forever. But it doesn’t, Beloved, no, 
it does not! I know now what was in your mind,— 
this horrid old Curran business. But,—oh, my 
Love, didn’t you know I would forgive even that? 
Why didn’t you tell me all about it? It was my own 
fault, though. I denounced divorce so strongly, you 
thought your own pitiful little story would affect 
my love for you. Bless your baby heart! Six years 
ago you were a mere school girl. You were dragged 
into a marriage—well, I won’t try to imagine it. 
When I get you back again, you shall tell me all 
about it while I hold you close and safe in my arms.” 

Loft laid his cheek against the picture for a 
moment and then set it back in place. 

“ Now,” he said to himself, sitting down at the 
desk, “ let’s tabulate our procedures.” 

“ First, I must find Pauline before those fool 


244 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


detectives do. Next, I must get the crowd here in 
the house all on Pauline’s side,—or they, especially 
the women, will do a lot of harm. Next, I must get 
up some theory of Curran’s death,—manufacture 
evidence if need be, to turn suspicion away from 
Pauline,—for it’s bound to hit her sooner or later. 
Miss Dwyer will be hard to manage, I daresay. 
Old Angel will stand by me,—though he seemed 
pretty well shaken by Kinney’s story—” 

And then Loft’s mind came back with a shock 
to realities. 

It was all very well for him, while alone, to 
forgive Pauline, to rhapsodize over her portrait and 
to smooth her way by reason of his unalterable love, 
—but none of these things would help much in 
regard to the fearful publicity and scandal that must 
follow on the announcement of Kinney’s report. 

Well, this certainly was no occasion for his motto 
of “ Do nothing and all will be done! ” That prin¬ 
ciple would not work in this case. He must plunge 
in and do it all himself. 

Just what he was to do, he wasn’t quite sure. 
But he had to trust to his own wisdom and judgment 
to meet each phase of the situation as it presented 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


245 


itself, and, mentally girding his loins for battle, 
Loft drew himself up proudly, and went out of the 
library to join the others. 

He found them grouped on the terrace. 

He was almost amused at the various attitudes 
with which they greeted him. 

Anna ran to him and impulsively threw her arms 
around his neck, crying, “ I’m always your friend, 
Val, through thick and thin! ” 

Even through his preoccupied thoughts there 
came to Loft a sudden thought of how prone Anna 
was to take advantage of a situation which would 
give her legitimate excuse to fling her arms around 
a man’s neck. 

♦ 

He gently disengaged the lovely arms, saying 
simply, “ Thank you, Anna, I felt sure I could bank 
on you,—on you all,” he added, looking around 
at them. 

Baldwin nodded, Knox gave an acquiescent 
smile, while Roly Mears exclaimed, fervently, 
“ You bet! ” 

The Countess said, very gravely, “ I am your 
friend, Valentine,—and Pauline’s.” 

But Miss Hetty Dwyer was plainly antagonistic. 


246 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“You can hardly expect such protestations from 
me, Mr. Loft,” she said, icily. “ I am amazed to 
learn that Miss Fuller is my brother’s divorced wife, 
—though I should not be. I should have suspected 
at once that his reference to Rosalie was directed 
at her—” 

“ Why should it have been, Miss Dwyer? ” Loft 
asked, quietly. “ Why should your brother want to 
tease or annoy the woman who had been his wife? ” 
“ Because she was playing a part! Because she 
was passing herself off as a girl, when she was a 
married woman,—a divorced woman! No discom¬ 
fort he could cause her, could deeply hurt such a 
callous, a perverted nature—” 

Valentine Loft interrupted her. 

“ Miss Dwyer,” he said, “ I want to make a 
statement. Miss Pauline Fuller is my fiancee, my 
deeply beloved bride-to-be. Nothing she has done, 
nothing she ever may or can do can shake my faith 
in her or in the slightest degree lessen my love for 
her. Now, then: no one under my roof may make 
the least unpleasant allusion to her, or say the merest 
word of reproach or unkindness. This understood, 
you are all welcome to the hospitality of my home 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 247 

as long as you choose to stay here. I shall be glad 
of your company, but I will not tolerate a word, a 
hint or a look that is unfriendly to Pauline Fuller. 
Am I clear? ” 

“ You are, Val, and I heartily stand by you/’ 
declared Knox, and Baldwin murmured, “ Me, too.” 

“ But, Valentine,” Roly Mears exclaimed, 
“ we’ve got to look into these matters. We can’t just 
sit down and do nothing. And, who knows where 
the investigation may lead ? ” 

Loft smiled a little. 

“ Roly,” he said, “ I’m not thinking of you. You 
go ahead with your ‘ investigation,’ perhaps you’ll 
be of real help. Countess, where do you stand? ” 

“ At your side, Val. Count on me for love and 
sympathy with Pauline, and you must forgive me if 
I go so far as to say, that I shall love her just the 
same through good report and evil report.” 

“ Thank you, Countess, I take that exactly as I 
know you mean it. Now, we are all in accord,—ex¬ 
cept, perhaps, Miss Dwyer.” 

“ Indeed you may except me,—I have no feel¬ 
ings in accord with those who would protect the mur¬ 
deress of my brother. I have no sympathy for a 


248 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

woman who could deceive the man who loved and 
trusted her, who could pretend she was an unmar¬ 
ried woman, when—” 

“ I don’t think you need go over that again, Miss 
Dwyer,” Loft spoke evenly; “will it not do if you 
merely say you do not care to stay with us, and 
make your adieux ? ” 

“ I have no intention of doing anything of the 
sort, Mr. Loft,” the spinster retorted. “ I am here, 
and here I stay until the mystery of my brother’s 
death is solved. Of course, if you ask me to leave 
your house, I shall do so, but I shall stay in 
the vicinity.” 

“You are welcome to stay in my house, Miss 
Dwyer, as long as it suits your convenience, on the 
sole condition that you speak no word of unpleasant 
import concerning Miss Fuller. You may think 
what you choose, but I must insist that under my 
roof no hint of disparagement of her shall be voiced. 
I have your promise? ” 

“ Yes. When I feel that I can no longer hold 
my tongue, I shall go away.” 

“ Very well, then,” and Valentine Loft turned 
from the lady, as one who has no further interest. 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


249 


There was a somewhat embarrassing silence 
after that. Every one of his guests was anxious to 
talk to Loft alone, but none seemed to care about 
joining in a general conversation. 

Moreover, no one knew exactly what to say. 

But Loft gave no opportunity for desultory 
chatter. 

“You fellows come with me, will you?” he 
said, and led the way back to the library. 

Baldwin, Knox and Roly Mears followed him, 
leaving the women to pursue their own vocations. 

“ Now, here's the situation,” Loft said, in his 
most business-like manner, “ Pauline is the divorced 
wife of Hugh Curran,—or Hugh Dwyer, as he was 
then. She has run away because she thinks I would 
be so shocked at the knowledge of this that I would 
care less for her. As a matter of fact the knowledge 
in no way affects my attitude toward her, and, natur¬ 
ally I want her to know that as soon as possible. 
But, with all my desire to do so, I cannot find her at 
once. I hope to do so, but I know it will be a difficult 
task. Now, meanwhile, the police, with their wide¬ 
spread detective facilities, may succeed in finding her 
before I can do so. They follow up a disappearance 


250 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


by means of their scattered agents, and I am alone in 
my search/’ 

“ Let me help you, Val,” said Mears, eagerly. 
“ I can trace her—” 

“ All right, Roly, go ahead. But your success is, 
to say the least, problematical; and I’m alarmed for 
another reason. To put it plainly, boys, it is almost 
inevitable that Pauline should be suspected of killing 
Hugh Curran. Kinney is sure of it, and if he can 
find her she will be arrested at once. This you can 
all see is an imminent danger. It must be averted. 
So, I propose to give myself up for the murder 
of Curran.” 

‘‘You!” Baldwin stared at him. 

“Yes. I say now to you all that I killed Hugh 
Curran that night.” 

“ The only trouble is,” Knox put in, “ nobody 
will believe you.” 

“ That’s just it. And that’s where I count on 
you fellows to help me out. If I go to the police and 
give myself up, they will say, ‘ No, you are merely 
doing that to shield Miss Fuller.’ So, I want one of 
you to go to Kinney and tell him convincingly,— 
convincingly, mind you,—that you suspect me. You 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


251 


can say my motive was to keep Miss Fuller’s secret 
from becoming public property. Or say I killed him 
in a fit of jealous rage,—we’ll make up the best and 
most plausible story we can,—but it must be a good 
one. Who’ll do this? You, Angel? ” 

“ No, Val, I can’t. Don’t ask me to. I’m no 
good at that wool-pulling stunt,—I wish I could,— 
but, oh, hang it all, old man,—I just can’t! ” 

Angel’s blue eyes showed deep distress, and his 
face was drawn with anxiety and apprehension. He 
averted his gaze from Loft, and said, “ It’s a fool 
plan,—you can’t put it over.” 

Roly looked amazed. 

“If you do put it over,” he said, “ they’ll take 
you at your word,—and hang you! ” 

“ I doubt it,” Loft returned, “ but I’ll take that 
chance. Will you do it for me, Ned? ” 

“ Not without thinking it over first. And, I say, 
Val, suppose you’re arrested, and Pauline hears 
of it,—which, of course, she would, she’ll come fly¬ 
ing back to confess herself,—if she did it.” 

“ She never did it,” Loft said, stubbornly. “ Get 
that in your heads, all of you. But she’s going to 
be suspected—accused of it,—and I’ve got to save 


252 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

her! I can’t think of any other way,—so, I did 
do it.” 

“ How’d you work it? ” Baldwin asked. “ How’d 
you lock the door after you? ” 

“ I had a sort of skeleton key, that turns the door 
key from the other side.” 

“ Can’t be done.” 

“ I did it,” and Loft’s calm serenity made it almost 
seem as if he were stating a fact instead of playing 
a role. “ I’d ask you to do this thing for me, Roly, 
but—well, I know you’d muff it. Angel or Ned 
could pull it off,—but you couldn’t. You can help, 
though, corroborate, you know.” 

“ Oh, I can’t bring myself to try it on, Val,” 
Knox looked sorry. “ Really, old man, it wouldn’t 
carry through.” 

“ That’s my business,” and Loft set his lips 
stubbornly. “Well, if you won’t, then I shall have 
to go and give myself up,—but I know it would be 
twice as convincing if you'd carry the message to 
Garcia. I can vow I did it,—and—well, perhaps I 
can make it realistic enough to fool those purblind 
police. So you all refuse? ” 

“ I do,” Baldwin said, decidedly. “ And I’m 


HOW LOFT TOOK IT 


253 


against it. You’ll get nowhere,—and, have you 
thought of this? When the police hear your confes¬ 
sion, and know,—as they will,—that you’re invent¬ 
ing it to save Pauline,—they’ll realize your fear of 
her guilt and they’ll be surer than ever of it.” 

Loft looked at him contemplatively. 

“ You don’t think Pauly did it, Bob? ” 

“ I do not. But the police will be sure of it 
if you go in for that fool quixotic scheme you 
propose.” 

“ I don’t know about that. I’ll mull it over 
some more and see. Roly, sometimes you have bril¬ 
liant ideas,—what do you suggest ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you what I suggest,” and Roly looked 
very earnest. “ I know you all think I’m awful 
young and don’t know anything about real detecting. 
And I guess you’re right, I don’t. Not in a big 
thing like this. But, I’m positively sure that there’s 
a greater mystery here than we know about yet. 
And I know those dunder-headed police will never 
find it out. So I propose, Val, that you get Fleming 
Stone, the detective.” 

“ Never heard of him.” 

“ Well, he’s well known among people who have 
had reason to employ him.” 


254 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


‘‘One of those story-book detectives? ” Angel 
asked, with a smile. 

“ Well, he’s deductive and all that,—but he’s 
got a lot of good sound common sense, too. Any¬ 
way, he’ll find Pauline, and he’ll find out the truth.” 

“ Do you want the truth found out, Val? ” and 
Angel looked at Loft closely. 

“ Yes, I do,” he said, after a moment’s pause. 
“ Pauline never killed that man,—but if she did,— 
there was good reason,—and she’ll be exonerated. 
Mind you, I say she didn’t,—but I also say Pm ready 
to face the truth,—and if she did,—she is still 
my Pauline.” 

“ Good for you,” cried Roly, “ you’re the real 
thing, Val. Will you send for Stone,—or shall I ? ” 

“You can do it, Roly, if you will. But let me 
see him first when he arrives.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 

As the car rolled smoothly up the long drive 
through the tree-shaded lawns of Valhalla, Fleming 
Stone and his able assistant, young McGuire, gazed 
in silent admiration at the beautiful well-kept place. 

“ When I have made my world-wide reputation, 
F. Stone,” the boy said, “ and have solved my last 
case, I shall retire on my income and live in just such 
a place as this.” 

“ Last week you planned a castle on the Pali¬ 
sades,—and the month before, you thought you’d 
like a California villa.” 

“ All off,—this is the sort of thing for an Ameri¬ 
can gentleman,—which I shall be by then.” 

Stone forbore to smile at the freckled-faced, red- 
haired lad in the role of a country gentleman, but he 
gave him a sympathizing look and said, “ I hope 
you’ll realize some one of your air castles, Fibsy.” 

“ Yessir. What do you know about this present 
disturbance, F. Stone?” he asked, as they came 
in sight of the house. 


255 


256 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Only the main facts. But it’s the always inter¬ 
esting question of the victim in a locked room—” 

“ And a beautiful lady. When I’m in this busi¬ 
ness for myself, F. S., I shall take only cases that 
include the beautiful lady.” 

“ But in this case, the lady has disappeared.” 

“ That’s the beauty of it. I shall have the pleas¬ 
ure of finding her. Won’t that be nice? ” 

“ Very nice, Terence, and I hope you may do so. 
To me this whole case is a bit serious.” 

“ Then it is to me, too, F. Stone,” and the 
freckled face at once became grave. 

Terence McGuire was Irish, and therefore pos¬ 
sessed of quick wits and a warm heart. Both these 
attributes were dedicated to the service of Fleming 
Stone, and as the years went by, Stone depended 
more and more on his young assistant, who was 
rapidly becoming a colleague. 

When taking a case, Stone acquainted himself, 
if possible, with the principal facts and conditions, 
but kept an open mind as to deductions therefrom, 
until he could see and hear details on the scene itself. 

The pair were received in the library by Valen¬ 
tine Loft alone. 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


257 


“ The case is a peculiar one, Mr. Stone,” he 
opened the subject; “ and I’m not sure you will want 
to conduct it as I wish. If not, just say so. I am 
employing you,—your reports are due to me only. 
While in no conflict with the police, at the same time 
I do not propose to take them into my confidence 
unless I choose to do so.” 

“ May I anticipate your intentions, Mr. Loft, 
by asking if yours is not the attitude of one who 
wishes my services in so far as they result in accord¬ 
ance with your desires,—and,—no further ? ” 

Loft was a little taken aback at this perspicacity, 
but he said, frankly, “ that is not far from the truth, 
Mr. Stone. But I hope,—I am trusting that there 
will be no conflict between your discoveries and 
my inclinations.” 

“ Put it more plainly,” Stone said, briefly. 

“ Very well. My fiancee, Miss Pauline Fuller, 
has disappeared. This fact has caused the police to 
suspect her of the murder of Mr. Curran. You 
know the circumstances of his death? ” 

“ Yes, in the main. Go on.” 

“ Miss Fuller has been proved to be the divorced 

wife of Mr. Curran, and, the police assume, she 
17 


258 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


killed him in order to protect her secret, or because 
of some unknown reason connected with their mar¬ 
ried life. I’m speaking very plainly, for I want 
to insist that there shall be no secrets between you 
and me. Now, here’s my position. If Miss Fuller 
is innocent, I want it proved. If she is guilty, I 
want the fact concealed and her innocence falsely 
proved. Do you see?” 

I see. 

“ This proposal could not be made to a guardian 
of the law, a dispenser of justice,—but a detective is 
not necessarily that. It is not only to find out the 
truth that I ask you, it is to prove to the public 
the innocence of Miss Fuller, whether she be inno¬ 
cent or not.” 

“ Is she innocent? ” 

“ I believe she is,—but, of course, I should be¬ 
lieve that, unless she herself should tell me the con¬ 
trary. But do your very best to prove her innocent, 
and if you cannot do so, then do your very best to 
cover her guilt from the public eyes.” 

“ I suppose you know you are asking me to 
compound a felony.” 

“ You are entirely at liberty to refuse to take 
the case at all.” 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


259 


“ But I shall take it, Mr. Loft, and I am taking 
it because I want to discover the truth for myself. 
I certainly cannot promise to conceal the fact, if I 
find Miss Fuller guilty, but I will agree to tell you 
first,—and you may take what steps you choose.” 

“ And you?” 

“ I shall be guided entirely by circumstances. I 
bind myself by no promises,—but I think I shall not 
disappoint you. There may be other directions in 
which I look than toward Miss Fuller. The case 
seems to me to present a number of angles.” 

“ Is there any one you suspect, Mr. Loft? ” 

The question came from Fibsy, who sat, looking 
earnestly at the master of the house. 

Loft looked at the lad a little surprised, for he 
had thought him a mere clerical assistant of the 
detective, or, perhaps, errand boy. 

But the clear gaze of the blue eyes held his atten¬ 
tion, and Loft replied, thoughtfully, “ No, I can’t 
say that I have. You see, no one I know could have 
any motive,—that I can think of. So, I think—I 
hope, the murderer was some one I never heard of. 
Of course, Curran was a stranger to us all—except 
Miss Fuller.” 


260 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


The pain that showed in Loft’s eyes was so poig¬ 
nant that Fibsy turned away his head. The boy 
was sympathetic to a degree, and he vowed to him¬ 
self that he would work hard on the case and do all 
he could in Loft’s interests, whatever the result. 

“ Well, Mr. Loft,” Stone finally summed up, 
after some few general questions, “ I will begin my 
investigations at once. I’ve no wish to work incog¬ 
nito or to keep my presence here a secret, as I some¬ 
times have occasion to do. I’d like to mingle with 
your household, chat with the guests, interview the 
servants, discuss matters with the local police,—if 
they are willing,—and generally inform myself on 
the situation, making what deductions I may as 
I go along.” 

Stone looked so capable, so efficient, that Loft 
felt encouraged. 

“ Very well, Mr. Stone,” he agreed. “ I’ll have 
you and Mr. McGuire shown to your rooms, and as 
soon as you like, we will call a conclave of 
the people.” 

“ Are all here who were here at the time of Mr. 
Curran’s death? ” 

“No; three have left. But I think you may 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


261 


feel sure they were in no way connected with 
the crime.” 

“If it was a crime,” Stone added, “ may it not 
have been an accident? ” 

Loft’s face brightened. “ We’ve never thought 
of that,” he cried. “ We’ve discussed suicide and 
murder, but accident never occurred to us.” 

“ Can it,” said Fibsy, seriously. “ It couldn’t 
have been accident. Where’d the poison come from 
for accidental use? ” 

Loft’s face fell. Already he had come to look 
on the boy’s opinions with thoughtful attention. It 
mattered not to him that McGuire was a young, half- 
grown chap, or that his words were not chosen from 
the most elegant English. There was something in 
Fibsy’s face and manner that appealed to Valen¬ 
tine Loft’s sense of reality, and he readily listened 
when the boy talked. And so, his quick turndown 
of the accident theory made Loft see at once that it 
really was untenable. 

Stone and Fibsy were given adjoining rooms, 
and as they had rather a long confab as soon as they 
were alone, it was luncheon time before they saw 
Loft again. 


262 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


Then introductions were general and the party 
adjourned to the dining-room. 

By experience in connection with Stone’s cases, 
Fibsy had learned the principles of etiquette, at least, 
sufficiently to make a presentable appearance at a 
well-ordered table. 

He was about to take the chair Loft designated 
for him, when the Countess exclaimed: “ You funny 
boy! Come right over here by me. Roly, you take 
that other seat.” 

A glance at Stone, who nodded, and then Fibsy 
obediently went over and seated himself beside 
the Countess. 

He was quite alive to the fact that, for the first 
time in his life he was seated next a titled person, 

f 

and he greatly enjoyed it, though outwardly careless 
of the honor. * 

“ Why are you called Fibsy? ” the Countess in¬ 
quired bluntly. 

“ Because I tell fibs, madam,” he returned, won¬ 
dering if he ought to say, “ Your Grace,” and con¬ 
cluding to ask Stone about it later. 

“ Indeed! And why do you tell fibs? ” 


( 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 263 

“ Because of necessity, madam; I only tell them 
when it is best and wisest to do so.” 

“ You seem to be a remarkable child! ” 

“ Yes, madam,—I am.” 

“ And conceited! ” 

“No, if you please. The remarkable thing about 
me is that I have gained the friendship of Mr. 
Fleming Stone,—and that I am able to make myself 
useful to him.” 

“You are fond of him?” 

“ Oh, gee! yes! I beg your pardon, madam, but 
added to my untruthfulness I am possessed of a sad 
addiction to slang phrases.” 

“You are simply delicious!” the Countess ex¬ 
claimed; “ Fve never met any one more refreshing! ” 

“ Pleased to meet you,” said Fibsy, and rolled 
his blue eyes at her so comically that she shook 
with laughter. 

Always quick to discern those who could be of 
help to him, especially among the women, Fibsy had 
picked out the Countess and Anna Knox as being 
the most promising. 

Miss Dwyer he shrank from at once. Greatly 


264 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


alive to personalities, Fibsy had no use for the 
spinster, he concluded. 

Nor did she seem to have any for him. She 
glared at him as at an intruder, and though she 
didn’t say outright that he had no right to be at 
the family table, she hinted as much, and Loft was 
obliged to resent it. 

“ I reserve the privilege of ordering my house¬ 
hold appointments,” he said, with a frowning glance 
at her, and she subsided, though not without a 
scornful look at Fibsy. 

After luncheon they gathered on the veranda, 
and Fleming Stone began at once to ask questions. 

His manner was grave, his speech cultured and 
refined, and his hearers were all impressed with 
the kindness of his demeanor and the gentle quality 
of his character. 

Yet as his shrewd eyes roved from one face to 
another, Fleming Stone gathered a good deal more 
than met the ear. 

His inquiries brought out not only the facts as 
they were known, but the interpretations the various 
minds put upon them. 

Miss Dwyer was loquacious; and as she was, in 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


265 


a way, most concerned with the dead man, Loft 
let her talk all she chose. 

And it was in her account of the discussion of 
ways and means of murder that Stone showed his 
first decided interest. 

He asked over just which methods were selected 
by the different men, and then Miss Dwyer said, 
spitefully, “ and it was Miss Fuller herself who 
chose poison as the medium! ” 

“ That seems to be a point in her favor,” Stone 
said, thoughtfully. “ I should say if any one of 
the people who discussed the matter should turn 
out to be the murderer, he or she would use a 
means other than the one of which they, personally, 
expressed approval.” 

“ Exactly,” agreed Loft, delighted at any hint 
in favor of Pauline. 

“ After methods, let’s consider motives,” Stone 
went on, suavely, but with a carefully veiled scrutiny 
of the faces before him. 

Fibsy, too, under cover of a disinterested non¬ 
chalance was taking his cue from Stone, and watch¬ 
ing the countenances of all present. 

“ I can’t imagine any motive on the part of any 


266 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


one present,” Loft declared, “ unless it be myself. 
You might say, that if I knew or suspected Curran’s 
previous relationship to—to Miss Fuller, I might 
have killed him in a fit of angry passion.” 

“ However, we know you didn’t,” Ned Knox 
said, “ so why waste time on that? ” 

“ I’m not so sure he didn’t,” Miss Dwyer said, 
with asperity. “To me it seems quite possible that 
Mr. Loft did know about it and perhaps surprised 
the pair together in Mr. Curran’s room, and so he 
killed him.” 

“ There seems to have been little or no oppor¬ 
tunity for that,” Stone said. “ As I see it, who¬ 
ever killed Mr. Curran did so in a most clever and 
ingenious way. To administer prussic acid, and 
leave no trace of the method or manner of its 
administering, is to my mind the work of a dia¬ 
bolically clever brain.” 

“ Yes,” I agree to that,” said Angel, thought¬ 
fully. 

“ But,” Stone went on, “ I have a belief that the 
smarter the criminal the easier he is to catch.” 

“ That’s a strange theory,” Knox said, surprised. 

“ But true. Your stupid dolt, who kills on an 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


267 


impulse, is often harder to apprehend than the smart 
Aleck who takes pains to hide his clues.” 

“ And leave no feathers around,” put in Loft. 

And as Stone looked inquiringly, he related the 
story of the negro and the stolen chickens. 

Fibsy laughed outright. 

“ That’s a good one, ” he said. “ Feathers left 
around! And F. Stone can take those feathers and 
construct the whole bird,—just like the Natural His¬ 
tory guys do.” 

“Next,” Stone went on, “what about alibis? 
Don’t think I’m accusing any member of the house¬ 
hold,—but I must check up your whereabouts 
that night.” 

He listened to their stories, and summed up thus: 

“ Then, Mr. and Mrs. Knox were in separate 
rooms, with a bathroom and two closed doors be¬ 
tween. Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were in one room. 
Miss Lawrence, Miss Fuller and Countess Galaski, 
each in a room by herself. Mr. Loft and Mr. 
Baldwin, in two adjoining rooms, only one of which, 
Mr. Loft’s, opened on the hall. And Mr. Mears in 
a room alone. Now, as you must see, with the pos¬ 
sible exception of Mr. Baldwin and the Merediths, 


268 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


no one has a real alibi. Any one could have gone 
into the hall, into Mr. Curran’s room, and back 
again, without necessarily arousing any one else.” 

“ Did any one see or hear any such occurrence? ” 
“ I did,” said the Countess, “ and I propose to 
tell of it, for it will come out, and I can give the 

unvarnished truth. Others might exaggerate or 

/ 

garble it. I saw Miss Fuller come out of Mr. 
Curran’s room that night sometime after two o’clock. 
She carried with her something that shone and 
glittered,—and which, I have no doubt, was Mr. 
Curran’s watch,—with her picture in it. I am telling 
this because it seems to be in Miss Fuller’s favor. 
She never killed that man! If she had done so, she 
would, as Mr. Stone says, have used any means 
other than poison. But she didn’t do it, because it 
is not in Pauline Fuller’s nature to commit crime. 
And, too, why should she kill him ? She was 
divorced from him,—what had she to fear 
from him?” 

“ Countess,” Bob Baldwin said, “ you think you 
are doing a wise thing to talk like that of Pauline,— 
but I advise you to stop. We, who know and love 
her, feel how impossible it is that she could have com- 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


269 


mitted crime,—but others,—strangers,—may not 
judge her so leniently or so truly.” 

“ That’s so, Countess,” Loft said. He had been 
dumfounded by the Countess’ speech, and he wished, 
uneasily, that she would stop talking like that. 

“ Now, don’t be alarmed about Mr. Stone and 
me making any mistakes in judging the lady in ques¬ 
tion,” Fibsy said, suddenly. 

His eyes were shining, and his shock of red hair 
was rumpled where he had unconsciously pulled at it, 
in his deep absorption in the recital of the Countess. 

“ In fact,” Fibsy went on, “ I may say, that I 
noted in Madam Countess’ story a pretty strong 
indication that Miss Fuller certainly did not kill 
Mr. Curran.” 

“ Bless you, boy! ” the Countess exclaimed. “ I 
wonder if you mean that.” 

“ Yes, I do,” Fibsy declared, “ though I may be 
mistaken. We’re not infallible,—F. Stone and me.” 

“ May I inquire, Mr. Stone,” said Miss Dwyer, 
acidly, “ if that boy is head of your firm, or if 
you are? ” 

“ It isn’t a firm,” Stone returned, a quiet smile 
on his face. “ McGuire is my valued assistant, that 


270 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


is all. His quick wits and young eyes sometimes 
discern things that I myself should not have noticed.” 

“ Oh, come now,” and Fibsy looked bashful, 
“ that ain’t quite right. Only I pick up now and 
then some feathers left around, that Mr. Stone 
hasn't time to stoop for.” 

“ You’re a darling!” the Countess cried, en¬ 
thusiastically, “ and I shall leave you something in 
my will.” 

“No time like the present,” murmured Fibsy, 
with a saucy glance that delighted the old lady. 

“ At any rate, I shall address myself only to 
you, Mr. Stone,” Miss Dwyer went on. “ Have 
you any idea, as yet, who killed my brother? Do 
you expect to find out? How soon do you expect 
to do so ? Have you made any real progress during 
this inquiry you have just been holding? Do you 
really think that because these men talked over detec¬ 
tive methods or murder methods with my brother, 
who was a writer of such stories, that there is the 
slightest reason to suspect one of them? Are you 
really trying to solve the mystery of my brother’s 
death,—or, are you only trying to exonerate from 
suspicion Miss Pauline Fuller—as she calls herself?” 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


271 


With difficulty Valentine Loft restrained his 
angry retort to this harangue, but Stone had already 
taken the lead. 

“ Miss Dwyer,” he said, pleasantly, but with an 
undertone of sternness, “ I find it difficult to remem¬ 
ber all your queries. But I will say that I am 
searching for the truth and the truth only. I do not 
think that because a man talks over methods of 
murder he is necessarily himself a criminal. I have 
made real progress in my quest during this present 
session, and while I have not yet a definite idea of 
the name of your brother’s murderer, yet I have 
made steps toward that, by eliminating one or two 
possible suspects. May I ask you in future to ask me 
questions in smaller quantities at a time? ” 

“ You’re a queer detective,” Miss Dwyer vouch¬ 
safed. 

“ You are,” Little Anna agreed. She had begun 
to feel less awe of Stone and her innate desire to 
receive attention made it impossible to keep silent 
longer. “ I thought detectives asked a line of ques¬ 
tions just as fast as they could talk.” 

“ We do, sometimes,” Stone smiled at her. Few 
could help smiling at Little Anna. “ But a right- 


272 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


minded detective questions different people differ¬ 
ently. When I tackle the servants of this establish¬ 
ment, I shall doubtless ask them a line of questions. 
But among us,—as equally intelligent people, I pre¬ 
fer to get at what I want by desultory chat. Be¬ 
sides, it’s pleasanter.” 

“ What were those things Mr. Curran said, when 
he pretended to be mind reading?” Fibsy asked. 
“ I heard you mention them at luncheon, but didn’t 
get them all.” 

“I’ll tell you,” said the Countess, beaming 
kindly on her new favorite. “ He told me that he 
could read in my mind that my shoes were too tight. 
He was absolutely correct, but as my face was all 
screwed up with pain, it didn’t show very desperate 
clairvoyant powers.” 

“What else?” asked Fibsy, and Stone lis¬ 
tened, too. 

“ Why, he spoke of Rosalie and asked if it meant 
anything to anybody. Of course, we know now, it 
meant a lot to Pauline,—poor child. Then, Mr. 
Curran spoke of a Mr. S., who, of course, was also 
some man of whom Pauline knew, and whom doubt¬ 
less, she preferred not to remember. As I see it 
now, he was merely baiting Pauline all the while.” 


FIBSY MEETS A COUNTESS 


273 


“Yes?” said Stone. “Do you know who this 
Mr. S. could have been, Miss Dwyer? ” 

“ I do not. I haven’t the slightest idea. I sup¬ 
pose it was some man his wife had—” 

Stone interrupted her, and went on, placidly: 
“ And, I am told, Mr. Curran collected old and 
rare books? ” 

“ Yes,” Loft replied, for Miss Dwyer was 
silently sulking. “ Mr. Baldwin here can tell you 
the details of that matter. He is a connoisseur.” 

“ Ah, yes; I collect some myself.” Stone smiled 
at Angel. “ Perhaps we can do a browse in the 
Loft library, Mr. Baldwin.” 

“ At your service,” said Bob, but he seemed 
disinterested, as he oftenest was, when amateurs 
wanted to consult with him. 

And then in his courteous way, Stone implied the 
confab was over for the moment, and he went away 
to interview the servants. 


18 


CHAPTER XV 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 

Fleming Stone stood on the veranda waiting 
for the car which was to take him to see Doctor 
Gilvray. Fibsy stood beside him, quiet of manner 
but with his quick-darting eyes taking in every¬ 
thing about him. 

Roly Mears approached the detective a little 
diffidently. 

“ Mr. Stone,” he said, “ would you mind if I 
went with you to the doctor’s? ” 

“ Not at all, Mr. Mears, come along.” 

Greatly pleased at Stone’s affability, and hoping 
to learn some of his conclusions, Roly went along. 

“ I don’t want to be intrusive,” he said, on the 
way, “ but have you come to any decisions, 
Mr. Stone? ” 

“ A difficult question to answer,” Stone said, 
smiling. “ I’ve come to several decisions, but to 
no conclusion.” 

“ I don’t know the difference,” Roly said, hon¬ 
estly, his face rather blank. 

274 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


275 


“ Well, then, I’ve decided that I must first find 
out what killed Mr. Curran. That’s a decision, and 
I hope it will lead to a conclusion on that subject.” 

“ But, we know it was prussic acid.” 

“ Yes, but I mean how administered, in what 

form and by what method! ” 

* 

And then they were at the doctor’s, who received 
them in his private office. He looked dubiously at 
Fibsy, but learning that he belonged with Stone, he 
seemed satisfied. 

“ Now, Doctor Gilvray,” Stone said, as they dis¬ 
cussed the case, “ how many ways are there of ad¬ 
ministering that particular poison? ” 

“ It may be swallowed or it may be inserted into 
the flesh,” the doctor returned. “ In this case we 
have to assume swallowing, because a distinct odor 
was noticed on the dead man’s lips. The absence of 
any trace of poison in the stomach, merely proves 
that there was only a minute quantity taken.” 

“ A minute quantity is enough to produce 
death? ” 

“ Oh, yes,—the merest speck.” 

“ Instantaneously? ” 

“ Practically so; an interval of a very few 


276 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


minutes might elapse before the victim ceased 
to breathe.” 

“ Can you explain the fact that there were traces 
in the mouth but not in the stomach,—even granting 
a minute portion of the acid? ” 

“ No, Mr. Stone,—not to my own entire satis¬ 
faction. I can only say it was the poison that 
caused Mr. Curran’s death.” 

“ What is its exact action? ” 

“It is an active paralyzant and exerts a lethal 
influence over every part of the body. The nervous 
system, heart, respiratory organs, brain, and all 
vital parts are killed at once. The victim dies, with 
a gasp. For an instant the face is convulsed, the 
eyes wide open, teeth clenched,—all these symptoms 
were present in Mr. Curran’s case.” 

“ How are you so certain there was no poison in 
the stomach?” 

“ Because at an autopsy, in such cases, there is 
a fleeting but unmistakable odor of bitter almonds 
when the body is opened. There was none,—of that 
I am positive.” 

“ Haven’t you omitted the suggestion that the 
poison might have been taken by inhalation— 
of fumes? ” 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


277 


“ It may be so taken, but as there was no evi¬ 
dence of any such possibility, I elided it.” 

“ Yet there was no evidence of the presence 
of the poison in powder or in liquid form.” 

“ True.” Doctor Gilvray looked so puzzled and 
distressed that Stone ceased to question him. The 
old physician was clearly at his wits’ end to account 
for the circumstances of the case. 

“ You know,” Roly Mears said, “ that night as 
Ned Knox passed the door of Mr. Curran’s room, 
when Angel was in there with him, Ned heard them 
saying something about a needle. I’ve thought it 
might have been a hypodermic needle,—maybe 
Curran had suicidal intent and maybe Bob was try¬ 
ing to dissuade him.” 

Stone looked up quickly. 

“ More likely,” he said, “ if they really were talk¬ 
ing of a hypodermic needle, or, of poisoning at all, 
more likely they were still discussing Curran’s detec¬ 
tive stories. We have no suspicions of Mr. Baldwin, 
have we? And, too, if he planned to kill Mr. 
Curran by means of a hypodermic, he would scarcely 
be chatting it over with him. Do you remember 
what Mr. Knox overheard, exactly? ” 


278 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ No,” Roly said, “ but it was about the needle. 
The needle was the point at issue, of that Knox is 
certain. I’ve talked to him a lot about it. He gath¬ 
ered that Curran had the needle himself.” 

“ And that Mr. Baldwin wanted it? ” 

“ I don’t know about that. You see, Ned thought 
nothing of it, except that a needle was a queer thing 
to be discussing so earnestly.” 

“ Were the men angry? ” 

“ Not at all, Knox says. But Curran was talking 
loudly, and Angel was not.” 

“ Well, I can’t see how Mr. Curran could have 
been killed by a hypodermic needle at that early hour, 
since he was seen alive later, by Mrs. Knox, by the 
maid, Tessie, and,—as we are told,—by Miss Fuller. 
By that time, Mr. Baldwin was tucked away in Mr. 
Loft’s bedroom.” 

“ Much as I hate to say so, I can’t see any real 
suspect but Miss Fuller,” Doctor Gilvray said, and 
his sad face told how he grieved at the thought. 

“ It looks that way, but I will not believe it,” 
Mears declared. 

“If it looks that way, we must look that way,” 
Stone said, gravely. 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


279 


“ And p’raps,” Fibsy said, “ if we look that way, 
maybe we can stop its looking that way.” 

“ Perhaps,” Stone agreed. “ And, now, Doctor 
Gilvray, it will be necessary that I shall see the body 
of Mr. Curran. Can you arrange that for me? ” 

“ Yes,—Mr. Stone,—” the doctor hesitated, “ if 
you are sure it is necessary.” 

“ I am sure,” Stone said. “ Otherwise, I can 
never arrive at the truth of this thing. No dispar¬ 
agement whatever, Doctor, to your report of the 
autopsy,—that is clear and correct. But I must 
examine that body.” 

“ Very well,” the doctor replied, and promised 
to make the desired arrangements. 

Returning to Valhalla, Fleming Stone asked for 
an interview with Loft, in which he inquired very 
definitely concerning the knowledge and the dis¬ 
coveries Loft might have made of Miss Fuller’s 
present abiding place. 

“ I have no knowledge whatever,” Loft said, dis¬ 
mally. “ I am utterly at a loss to imagine where she 
is, but, knowing her as I do, I am sure she is safely 
hidden from detectives or from myself.” 

“ It’s not easy to hide so completely,” Stone said. 


280 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“No; but it’s possible,” Loft returned. “You 
must know, yourself, Mr. Stone, that a man mightn’t 
do it, but a woman can retire to some inconspicuous 
spot, and remain there undiscovered for a long time.” 

“ That’s true,” Stone said; “ but how does Miss 
Fuller get money,—how get in touch with her aunt, 
if necessary,—in a word, how does she communicate 
with the outside world? ” 

“ She doesn’t,” Loft replied, gloomily. “ You 
see, Miss Fuller has a wide circle of devoted friends. 
I could name half a dozen who would willingly, 
gladly give her sanctuary, no matter what she may 
have done. These friends would be wise enough and 
clever enough to keep her presence safely hidden 
from any prying detectives or inquisitors. It would 
not be so difficult. Imagine a large country house, 
with lots of guests coming and going,—or, better, 
imagine a small country home, on the outskirts, say, 
of some tiny village, or farther out in the country. 
Granted a determined hostess, Miss Fuller could be 
an unsuspected guest, indefinitely. At any rate, Mr. 
Stone, I am positive that is where Miss Fuller is,— 
at some such place.” 

“ You’ve tried to communicate with her? ” 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


281 

“ I have sent letters to her in care of five such 
homes as I’ve just mentioned, but they were all re¬ 
turned with the statement that she was not there. 
But that doesn’t shake my belief. Either the people 
were untruthful, out of loyalty to her, or she is at 
some other place.” 

Fibsy looked deeply thoughtful. 

“ Do you think she may be in some farmhouse, 
or some small house in the country, Mr. Loft? ” he 
asked earnestly. 

“ It may well be,” Loft replied. “ That’s where 
I picture her. But I shall write no more letters, she 
will not let them be answered.” 

“ And you can get no information from Miss 
Fuller’s home in New York? ” Stone asked. 

“ No. You see, Miss Fuller is very much alone 
in the world. Her aunt who lives with her in her 
city home, is a nervous invalid, and pays no attention 
to her niece’s comings or goings. I have learned 
that she thinks Miss Fuller is still here, and I have 
not undeceived her. I have found out, too, that 
Miss Fuller’s lawyer does not know where she is,— 
that is, he says he doesn’t,—and her bankers profess 
the same ignorance. Now, it’s quite possible that 


282 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


these people do know, but deny the knowledge, hold¬ 
ing it as a business secret. At any rate, I cannot 
find out. You see, Miss Fuller can get money from 
her friends without trouble.” 

“ As you put it, the whole affair is plausible 
enough from the very fact that it is so casual/’ Stone 
said, after a moment’s thought. “ True, a man,— 
especially a business man,—would find it difficult 
to drop out of existence, but a woman,—and a 
desperate woman, can do many seemingly im¬ 
possible things/’ 

“ Say, Mr. Loft,” Fibsy put in, “ you think 
maybe Miss Fuller is at a farmhouse,—where? ” 

“ Probably up in Connecticut,—or Massachu¬ 
setts. She has many friends in all parts of the 
Berkshire regions. Also in New Jersey. And in the 

Southern States,—but I think she is not very 

* 

far away.” 

“ You’re basing your assumptions on your 
intimate knowledge of Miss Fuller’s mind?” 
Stone asked. 

“ Exactly that,” Loft replied. “ I know her in¬ 
domitable will, I know that she has disappeared 
without a word; she proposes to stay hidden, but I 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 283 

also know, Mr. Stone, that she never killed 
that man! ” 

“ I wish your conviction were positive proof,” 
Stone said, gravely. 

“ I wish so, too,” Loft agreed. “ But I can’t 
expect those who do not know Miss Fuller as I do, to 
realize the depths of her nature. I appreciate, Mr. 
Stone, as you cannot, the motives that led to her 
deception of myself. It was, primarily my own 
fault. I had no right to be so arbitrary in my 
denunciation of divorce. It was, I see now, merely 
a whim of mine, and had I not given way to it, 
Pauline might have confessed all to me. I am thus 
frank with you, because I want you to understand 
the situation perfectly.” 

“ I think I do, Mr. Loft,” Stone spoke sympa¬ 
thetically. 

“ I know I do,” Fibsy said, eagerly,—“ and 
what’s more, Mr. Loft, I have a notion I can find 

Miss Fuller for you.” 

“Good boy!” Loft said, in a kindly way, but 
in a tone which showed clearly he had small hope 
of Fibsy’s making good his promise. 

But the boy wagged his head sagaciously, and 


284 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

Stone could see that some ingenious scheme had 
sprouted in his fertile brain. 

“What’s the big idea, Fibs?” he asked, when 
the two were later alone in Stone’s room. 

“ I haven’t quite doped it out yet, Mr. Stone,” 
and Fibsy’s blue eyes looked deep with anxiety. 
“ But I have a glimmering of a notion—aw, shucks, 
—wait till I give it another think, then I’ll tell you.” 

“ All right, McGuire. Now, how about giving 
Mr. Curran’s room a sweeping glance? ” 

“ Let’s,” and the boy jumped up readily. 

So to the locked room the two went, and Stone 
producing the key Loft had given him, they went 
in and locked the door behind them. 

“ Very few feathers left around,” Stone said, 
somewhat chagrined at the slight effect of personal 
occupancy the room presented. 

“ Mr. Loft said nothing has been touched,” Fibsy 
reminded him. “ Surely you can find something in¬ 
dicative, F. S.” 

“ Let’s hope so.” 

Stone scanned in turn each article of furniture, 
the walls, the floor, the window sills and door frames. 

“ Not much,” he concluded. “ How about the 
wastebasket,—turn it out, Fibs.” 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


285 


On an outspread newspaper, Fibsy emptied the 
basket. 

Attentively the detective scanned the motley array 
of rubbish. 

“ Most wastebaskets speak louder than this one,” 
he said, grimly. “ Can you hear anything, Fibs? ” 

“ Nope,” and the boy looked hopelessly at some 
torn papers, some bits of string, some lead pencil 
shavings, an empty cigarette box, an empty box that 
had evidently held digestive tablets, a wooden tooth¬ 
pick, a quill toothpick, a torn toothpick paper, a few 
burnt matches, and an old envelope or two. 

Nearly all these things were duplicated on the 
floor of the room, proving a most careless occupant, 
and also proving, that as Loft had said, nothing 
had been disturbed. 

“ That medicine box might have held the poison,” 
Fibsy said, half-heartedly, “ but it doesn’t look that 
way to me.” 

“No;” and Stone smelled of the pasteboard 
carton. “ I doubt it.” 

But he picked out two or three of the articles 
from the wastebasket rubbish and put them in his 
note-book for future study. 


286 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

“ You see, the windows are fastened securely, 
with six-inch openings for ventilation,” Fibsy re¬ 
marked, and Stone said, “ Yes,” disinterestedly. 

“ And, I say, F. Stone, this door, if locked, never 
could be opened from the outside,—you can 
see that.” 

“ Yes, I see that.” 

“ Then how in the name of Emile Gaboriau did 
the murderer get in and out? ” 

“ Be more meticulous, Terence. You mean 
how did he get out ? He could get in easily enough.” 

“ Curran let him in? ” 

41 Surely.” 

“And then he accomplished his fell purpose?” 

“ He did.” 

“ And then, how did he get out? ” 

“ Curran let him out.” 

“ While he was dead? ” 

“ No,—alive.” 

“ But, the doctor said his death was instan¬ 
taneous.” 

“Yes,—oh, hush up, Fibsy! This is a wonder¬ 
ful case! But I can’t be certain about it until I 
have seen the body of Hugh Curran.” 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 287 

“ Say, F. Stone, it wasn’t the Pauline lady,— 
was it ? ” 

“ It may have been,—so far we’ve found no one 
else with a motive.” 

“ Oh,—I can’t believe it—that lovely lady! ” 

“ McGuire, you’ll never make a detective unless 
you are willing to seek the woman. If you start 
out on the premise of a man miscreant always, 
you’ll get nowhere,—you’ll get sadly left.” 

“ Well,—I’m starting out this trip with the 
premise that Miss Fuller is as innocent as they 
make ’em, and therefore I’m going to produce her 
and let her state her innocence for herself. She can 
put up the goods.” 

“ Just how are you going to find her, Fibs? ” 

And then, in a few words, McGuire detailed 
his plan. 

“ Good enough in theory,” was Stone’s com¬ 
ment, “ but extremely dubious in practice. However, 
go ahead,—if Loft agrees.” 

And then Stone was called downstairs to meeet 
Detective Kinney who greatly desired to see him. 

Fibsy went along, his head full of his own 
scheme of things. 


288 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


So engrossed was he in his plans, that he paid 
little attention to the conversation between Stone 
and the local detective. 

When at last he listened in, as he would have 
called it, Kinney was saying: 

“ Yes, sir, we have followed up many clues, 
which though promising at first, led nowhere. 
But—” 

“ I’ll finish for you,” said Fibsy, saucily, “ but 
you feel sure now, you are working in the right 
direction and will soon be in full possession of the 
facts. You are not at present ready to announce 
your decision, but expect soon to make public some 
interesting disclosures.” 

Kinney was furious, as this was just about what 
he had meant to say. He gave Fibsy a withering 
glance, which that young hopeful received with a 
knowing wink. 

“ I’ll tell you what, Mr. Kinney,” he said, 

“ you’re pretty sure, aren’t you, that Miss Fuller is 
concerned in this matter—this crime, I mean.” 

“ I am sure of that! ” Kinney exclaimed, and if 
I could get hold of her—” 

“ I’m going to find her,” McGuire said, calmly, 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 


289 


“ and then she and I will prove to you that she is 
utterly and entirely innocent.” 

“ Ah, and who is the guilty person, may I ask? ” 

“You may ask and you may answer. I’m sure 
I don’t know.” 

“ Behave yourself, Terence,” Stone admonished 
him, and seeing no chance of more fun at the ex¬ 
pense of Detective Kinney, Fibsy wandered away. 

Fie went in search of Tessie, with whom he had 
already made friends. 

“ Tell me something, sweetie,” he said, with a 
cherubic smile, “ tell your little Fibsy something, 
will you? ” 

“ Go along with you,—you, and your foolish¬ 
ness,” and Tessie involuntarily smiled back at the 
impudent chap. 

“ No, seriously, now. Tell me what sort of 
clothes and things Miss Fuller took when she went 
away that day.” 

“ Why, she took no clothes at all,—no dresses 
or hats. I mean she took what we call an over¬ 
night bag,—only her night things, and brushes 
and such.” 

“ Yes,—but I mean did she take her best night 
things,—as if she was going to a swell party? ” 

19 


290 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Why—let me see. No, as I remember, she 
took rather her plainer things,—no boudoir cap and 
only a simple kimono,—no fancy negglegy.” 

“ Yes,” and the red head nodded with satisfac¬ 
tion. “ Say, like she was going to see some friend 
who wasn’t one of the tip-top upper crust? ” 

“ Well, yes, you might put it so.” 

“ And, say, Tessie,—oh, now do try! Can’t you 
think of something she said that would give the 
leastest, tiniest hint of where she was going? ” 

“ No, I can’t,” but urged by the earnestness of 
her interlocutor, Tessie thought hard. 

Finally she said, “ There’s just one thing; in the 
car, on the way to the station, I caught sight of a 
New York Central time table in Miss Fuller’s bag—> 
the Harlem Division—” 

“ Oh, you duck! you daisy! ” and Fibsy grabbed 
the girl in his arms, and made her dance a two-step 
while he whistled a lively tune. 

“ Behave yourself, you young rascal,” Tessie 
cried, as she shook him off. “ IT1 not stand for such 
goings on! ” 

“ You needn’t,” he cried, “ I’m going off— 
way off! ” 


THE NEEDLE AGAIN 291 

He ran away and presented himself at the door 
of the library, where Loft still sat at his desk. 

“ Mr. Loft,” he said, respectfully, “ may I have 
a talk with you? ” 

“ Come in,” Loft said, his attention arrested by 
something in Fibsy’s tone. 

“ I think I may be able to locate Miss Fuller, 
sir,” he said, a little embarrassed as he felt Loft’s 
grave gaze fixed on his face. 

“ Just how? ” and Loft spoke kindly. 

“ I’d rather not tell you,” Fibsy replied. “ I 
know that sounds queer, sir, but Mr. Stone, he 
knows, and he can tell you if he chooses. But it 
would sound to you like a wild goose chase,—and 
yet,—Mr. Loft,—wild geese have been caught.” 

Fibsy did not smile, and his look was so beseech¬ 
ing Loft listened with interest. 

“ Yes, McGuire, they have. Well, what can I 
do in the matter? ” 

“ Just this, sir. Will you give me some message, 
which, if Miss Fuller hears it, she’ll know that you 
want her to come back. I mean some sort of blind 
message,—that only she will understand,—but that 
she can make no mistake about.” 


292 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ H’m,—I see. Well, tell her—tell her—there’s 
a Valentine waiting for Pauline. How’s that? ” 
“Fine! Splendid. Now, is there any other 
word,—any phrase that is sort of a by-word —sort 
of a secret between you two? ” 

“ Why, yes, we had many of them. Tell her, 
for instance: ‘ The Portuguese are the people! ’ 
She’d understand that was a message from me.” 

“ Very well, sir,” Fibsy jotted the lines down in 
his note-book with painstaking care. “ Now, will 
you give me five hundred dollars to spend on this 
thing? It’s a lot of money, but I feel sure it will 
give you back your lady.” 

“You are a most extraordinary youth!” Loft 
said, “ but I’ll chance it. Here is your money. 
Where are you going? ” 

“ To Springfield, Mass.,” said Fibsy. 


CHAPTER XVI 
curran’s cruelty 

Pauline Fuller was both listless and restless. 
The quiet, secluded home of Mary Malden was sanc¬ 
tuary indeed, and Pauline ran little or no chance of 
being discovered there. 

But now that she had had time to think matters 
over, she was not quite sure she had been wise in 
coming. She had told kind-hearted Mary her whole 
story, and Mary had sympathized and had coddled 
her and petted her, all of which was balm to 
Pauline’s tortured heart. 

Now three or four days had passed and the 
monotony of the place, though restful and sooth¬ 
ing, had begun to get on her nerves. 

She wondered what Val was doing. What he 
was thinking of her. How matters were progressing 
at Valhalla. 

“ Do you know,” she said to Mary, “ sometimes 
I feel as if I must rush right back there,—I’m so 
anxious about Val.” 


r 


293 


294 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Better stay where you are,” said the practical 
Mary. “ From what you’ve told me of his ideas 
about divorce, I should think you’d never dare see 
him again.” 

“ Perhaps he’d forgive it all,” said Pauline, 
hopefully. 

“ Perhaps he wouldn’t,” returned Mary. “ No, 
my child, you did the most scandalous thing I ever 
heard of,—to pass yourself off as a girl, when you 
were a married and divorced woman. I wouldn’t 
have believed it of you, Polly.” 

“ I know it was dreadful, but oh, Mary,—I was 
so young, and I was urged into that marriage against 
my will. Almost nobody knew anything about it. I 
was out in California two years, you see, and the 
whole courtship engagement, marriage and divorce 
all occurred within the first year. So, when I did 
come back to New York, I tried to forget it,—I told 
no one, not even Auntie,—she would have been so 
upset. And, you see, the courts gave me back my 
maiden name,—so I just put that whole year out of 
my mind,—and strove to forget it. And I did for¬ 
get it, practically. I know it was wrong to deceive 
Val, but—he is so dear,—and he is so terribly 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 295 

opposed to divorce. I meant to tell him before we 
were married, though,—” she broke off, and bowing 
her head in her hands, she wept silently. 

“ There, there, dearie,” said the kindly Mary, 
“ never mind now, we’ll think out what’s best to do. 
But don’t go back to Valhalla,—you’d—you’d be 
arrested for—for—you know—” 

“For the murder of Hugh Curran? But I 
didn’t kill him, Mary.” 

“ Thank Heaven for that! Do you know, Polly, 
this is the first time you’ve said that definitely. Can 
I believe you, dear? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed you can. No, Mary, I was in 
his room that night, I did take the watch, but I 
didn’t poison him.” 

“ Tell me about it.” 

“ I can’t, dear,—the mere thought of it all upsets 
me so. Just think, I hadn’t thought of that man 
for nearly six years,—I mean, thought of him co¬ 
herently. If ever a suggestion of him came in my 
mind I resolutely put it away from me. You know, 
I had no idea that Hugh Curran was Hugh Dwyer.” 

“You hadn’t?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed. I had never heard from or 


296 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


of Hugh Dwyer since I left him at the time of 
the divorce—” 

“ Was he very dreadful to you, dear? ” 

“ Awful! Horrible! Don’t ask me about that! 
The divorce was granted at once,—an absolute de¬ 
cree and all that. Mary, don’t! ” 

“ No, I’ll never mention it again. Go on, about 
this later time.” 

“ Well, I heard them talking about this author 
of detective stories,—I never read them myself,— 
and I heard them say that Hugh Curran had been a 
Moving Picture actor. But it all meant nothing to 
me. I never connected that name with the name 
of Hugh Dwyer,—why should I? ” 

“ Of course not, dearie. And then, Val invited 
him to the house? ” 

“ Yes,—and it happened that when somebody 
asked Val what the man looked like, just out of 
foolishness, Val described him as quite different 
from the truth.” 

“ Why did he do that? ” 

“No reason but as a bit of fooling. Anyway, 
that made me think of the coming guest as a total 
stranger, of course, and, Mary, when he came,— 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


297 


and I saw him,—I almost fainted. Truly I did. 
I was pouring coffee, and let the cup overflow while 
I struggled to keep my composure. I think I only 
did keep up because I knew Hugh’s eye was on me, 
and he would be rejoiced to see me collapse.” 

“ What a friend he was! ” 

“ Oh, yes, all of that. He had a diabolical way 
of tormenting any one, under cover of utmost 
friendliness. So, first of all, he asked me to walk 
in the garden with him,—alone. I shouldn’t have 
gone, but anyway, Val forbade it, and Hugh sub¬ 
sided. Then later, he took a fiendish delight in 
flinging out allusions that only I could understand. 
Why, he even asked me straight out if I kept my 
bureau drawers in order,—that had been a source of 
disagreement between us when we lived together. 
He was a most untidy sort of person,—I mean about 
keeping things in their places. And then,—when 
I wouldn’t seem to notice anything he said of that 
sort, he asked if the name £ Rosalie ’ meant anything 
to anybody present! He thought I’d betray myself 
then, but I didn’t. Rosalie or Rosy is what he 
always called me because of my pink cheeks—which 
I always had then.” 


298 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ And which you’ve never had since, you poor 
darling. Pauline, how you have suffered! Surely 
you’ve atoned for anything you have ever done.” 

“ Oh, I hope so,—but Mary, I haven’t done any¬ 
thing wrong—except to keep from Val the knowl¬ 
edge of my former marriage,—and I did that more 
for his sake than for my own. Truly I did.” 

“ It was wrong, Pauline,—very wrong. But, go 
on, tell me the rest of your story.” 

“ Then, he flashed his watch open once or twice, 
in such a way that I couldn’t help seeing that my 
picture was in it. He used to have it there,—I don’t 
know whether he carried it all these years or not. 
And,—Mary, the worst of all, was the look of 
admiration he gave me every chance he could get to 
do so, unobserved. I could have stood better his 
hate, his fury, his revenge, even, than those glances 
of admiration and apparent affection. As we said 
good-night, he managed to whisper to me, * Come 
to my room at two o’clock.’ Mary, I didn’t dare 
disobey,—and, too, I felt I had to see him alone,— 
and learn what his intentions were. If he meant to 
expose me, I wanted it done all at once,—not by 
that slow torture. If I could persuade him to keep 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


299 


my secret, I meant to do so. Anyway my relations 
to Val, my hope of happiness with him, all depended 
on that man’s attitude in the matter. So,—I went 
to his room—at two o’clock.” 

“ I don’t blame you, dear. You had to do it.” 

“ Yes, I had to. And Mary, the whole trouble 
was that he had become infatuated with me all over 
again! He was engaged to another girl, but he told 
me he didn’t love her,—and he did love me,—and he 
begged me to come back to him,—said I had grown 
more beautiful, more dear and sweet, and he wanted 
me. He said, if he couldn’t have me,—no one else 
should. He said he would tell Val the whole 
story, and as he well knew Val’s feelings about 
divorce, he knew—and I knew,—that would break 
off our engagement. 

“ He upbraided me fearfully for deceiving Val, 
—called me terrible names, and then he would 
change to a wheedling love-making on his own 
account. Finally, he threatened that unless I would 
promise to break with Val and remarry him, he 
would not only tell the whole story of our marriage, 
but would compromise me by saying I had come to 
his room that night without invitation. Oh, he was 


300 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

a devil incarnate. And all the time, suave and 
urbane as if he were proposing some casual plan. 
Then he would suddenly break into protestations of 
passion and love for me,—all of 'which I knew by 
heart, and they brought back the old days that I have 
tried so hard to forget. Mary,—I was ready to 
kill either him or myself,—and I didn’t care 
much which.” 

“ You didn’t do either? ” 

“ I see you can’t believe me,—and I don’t won¬ 
der,—now that you know what happened. No, I 
didn’t kill him,—though I confess there was murder 
in my heart. And if I had had a weapon, I could 
have easily brought myself to do it—oh, no, I don’t 
think I could, either. I’ve crime enough on my 
shoulders, without adding murder to it.” 

“ No, Polly, if you didn’t kill him, you’ve no 
crime to regret. Your deception of Val is wrong, 
—very wrong,—but not a crime. But Val knows 
the truth of that, now,—and Pauline, don’t you 
suppose Val thinks you killed Curran?” 

“ Maybe he does,—but, Mary, how could I kill 
him? What with? ” 

“ Why, with the poison,—your choice of a 
method, as you’ve told me yourself.” 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 301 

“ But I didn’t,” Pauline reiterated. “ I became 
frightened at his wild protestations of love and 
passion, and I simply ran out of the room. I felt 
sure that for all his threats he wouldn’t follow me, 
and so, I grabbed his watch as I fled, with a half- 
conscious idea of destroying that picture. But when 
I reached my room, I was trembling so, and so faint 
from nervous reaction, I hid the watch and fell on 
the bed where I lay for hours just as I was. It was 
daybreak before I got up and undressed and really 
went to bed. Then, Mary,—then imagine next 
morning, learning that Hugh Dwyer was dead! ” 

“ You were glad? ” 

“ Glad faintly expresses it! I was freed from 
a dreadful danger, saved from an awful fate. I was 
so glad I could have sung for very joy. I daresay 
it was a sort of nervous hysteria, but it was all I 
could do to preserve a decent calm. I tried not to 
lie to Val. He asked me straight out if I had ever 
seen Hugh Curran before he came to the house. 
And I said 4 No,’ for surely I had never met Hugh 
Curran before. Hugh Dwyer was my persecutor. 
And, now, as you say, Mary, Val knows my story, 
and others know it. I heard enough to know they 


302 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


were going to send a man to Reno to learn the 
details of Dwyer’s marriage and divorce, and the 
name of his wife. I knew, too, that that Detective 
Kinney had found the watch in my room,—with my 
picture in it—oh, Mary, I couldn’t face Val! Now, 
I almost wish I had,—maybe he would have stood 
by me,—maybe I could have convinced him that I 
didn’t kill Curran.” 

“ Who do you suppose did, Pauline ? ” 

“ I can’t imagine,—nor can I see how it was 
done. I’ve thought over it so much. How could 
any one have poisoned that man after I left 
his room? ” 

“ How long after? ” 

“ A couple of hours, I should judge. The doc¬ 
tors calculated that he died between four and five 
o’clock in the morning. I should think it a suicide, 
but that I know he was too eager to live to—to pun¬ 
ish me,—or,—to marry me again. Nor can I think 
of any one who had any motive to kill him. I feel 
sure now, it must have been some intruder from 
outside,—maybe through the window,—though they 
say that was impossible. Oh, dear, I wish you’d 
believe, Mary, that I didn’t kill him.” 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


303 


“ I do believe it, Pauline,—at least, I’m trying 
to believe it. But if you had done it, I’d think you 
were justified,—” 

“ No, not justified. You may say you could 
understand my doing it,—as I confess I had the 
will to do it—oh, Mary, does that make me a mur¬ 
deress? Am I all bad? ” 

“No, no, dearie, there, there, don’t cry so. . . . 
You’re just a normal, true woman,—you love Val, 
and all these feelings toward that brute who ruined 
your life are only natural. How did you come to 
marry him, Pauline?” 

“ Oh, I was very young,—only seventeen, but 
younger even than that in my innocence and igno¬ 
rance. He was a handsome, beguiling chap, and one 
night he made desperate love to me, and urged me 
to elope with him. I thought it all very romantic, 
and I thought I loved him,—and I went. 

“ We were married at once, by some clergyman 
friend of his, and all of the honeymoon he was 
angelic. But soon after, he began to be careless 
and worthless, and from that on, as I soon found I 
didn’t really love him, he became cruel, brutal and 
unbearable. I went to stay with a friend, a nice 


304 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


elderly lady, and she advised me to get a divorce at 
once. She helped me put it through, and inside of 
eight months I had been wooed, wedded and 
divorced. Oh, but I was glad to be free again. 
Then when I returned to New York, a year later, I 
kept it a secret, to save myself the gossip that it 
would have caused. And when I met Val,—and 
when w^e came to love each other,—I should have 
told him all, but for his strange, almost insane hatred 
of divorce. I meant to tell him, even then, but I’ve 
put it off because I couldn’t bear to hurt him. And, 
I’ve worried myself sick over the question of 
whether to tell him at all or not. One day I would 
decide to make a clean breast of it all, and then 
he’d say something about divorce, and I’d find my¬ 
self utterly unable to open the subject. But I never 
should have married him without telling.” 

“ Well, Pauline, I’m your friend, whatever hap¬ 
pens. I’m ready to believe you didn’t kill that man, 
but I couldn’t blame anybody who thinks you did. 
And, I may as w r ell say that I think if you had killed 
him, you’d deny it just as you have done.” 

Pauline smiled. She felt such a relief at having 
unburdened her, whole heart to her friend, that she 
was able to see the absurdity of Mary’s attitude. 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


305 


Yet was it so absurd? Could friendship go 
further than to pledge continued friendship even in 
the face of such uncertainty as was surely in 
Mary’s mind? 

Pauline appreciated this, and flung her arms 
round Mary while she thanked her for her good¬ 
ness and love. 

“ And now,” Mary said, with her usual good 
sense, “ put it all out of your mind for the moment. 
Go and lie in the hammock and read a foolish novel 
or go out and pick flowers or get out some sewing,— 
no, don’t do anything conducive to thought. Go 
and listen in on the radio.” 

“ I hate those radio things,” Pauline said, laugh¬ 
ing. “To me, they’re the monotonous lingo of a 
metal mind.” 

“ Oh, come, now, some of it is real interesting,— 
and instructive, too. Go and try it, anyway.” 

Pauline drifted about, lounged in the hammock, 
picked some flowers, and honestly endeavored to put 
her troubles away from her for a time. 

“ Pm going to the village, in the Ford,” Mary 
said, later. “Want to go?” 

“ No,” said Pauline, promptly, “ somebody might 

see me.” 

20 


306 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Fiddlesticks! You can’t live all your life shut 
up on this farm. Well, all right, but you’ve got to go 
with me tomorrow, or soon.” 

“ Very well, we’ll see,” and Pauline waved a 
good-by after the departing car, and returned to her 
listless idleness. 

At last, in sheer desperation, she turned to the 
radio outfit, and took up the receivers. 

As she had anticipated, she was bored by a 
soprano solo by a high-strung young girl, and an 
accordion obbligato by a clever young man. 

She was about to disconnect, when she heard the 
announcement of a lecture on “ European Countries 
Little Known.” The day’s subject turned out to be 
Portugal. Slightly interested, she listened to the 
lecturer’s trite and ready-made phrases. And then, 
he said, in especially clear accents, “ The Portuguese 
are the people! ” 

Pauline smiled to herself, for that was a phrase 
she and Val had often used, and to them it meant 
an appreciation of certain “ Sonnets from the Portu¬ 
guese,” with which Elizabeth Barrett Browning 
charmed all lovers. 

The lecture proceeded, and three times the 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


307 


speaker repeated the short phrase, “ The Portuguese 
are the people.” 

Pauline pondered long, after the lecture was over. 

Could it be a sort of an omen,—a hint from 
Fate that Valentine was thinking of her,—perhaps 
still loving her ? 

And then, realizing the absurdity of her own 
thoughts, she put it from her mind. She had no 
leanings toward the occult, or even toward telepathy 
or thought transference. And, too, as she said to 
herself, it wasn’t Val who was doing the lecturing. 

But the result of the episode was that Pauline 
spent many hours at the radio apparatus the next 
few days. She let herself be bored by the lectures 
on science, by the children’s stories, by the far from 
first-class music, and by the rehash of current events. 
She listened even to the talk on home-making and 
culinary doings, hoping against hope that something 
would again remind her of Valentine. 

At last she was rewarded. On the second day 
of her radio interest, there was a talk by one of New 
York’s most celebrated detectives. Among other 
things he spoke of the work of the Bureau of Miss¬ 
ing Persons. And, she could scarcely believe her 


308 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


ears, but she certainly heard him say, “For example, 
if an advertisement were worded, ‘ Pearline, come 
back and all will be forgiven,’ it might not succeed 
in its purpose. But if it said, ‘ Pearline, come back, 
I love you,’ then maybe she would come.” 

The lecture, though of serious intent, was in a 
popular style, and Pauline gasped. 

For Pearline was a foolish nickname that Val 
used in his gayest moments. It had seemed to him 
a great joke to call the dignified and beautiful 
Pauline by the silly name. 

And as she continued to listen, the lecturer re¬ 
ferred again to the supposed advertisement and 
repeated the whole idea. 

Pauline waited till the lecture was over and then 
went away to her own room to think it out. 

She knew little of the way in which radio stuff 
was “ broadcasted,” but she felt almost certain that 
that bit in an otherwise impersonal lecture couldn’t 
be mere chance. 

If Val had wanted to send her a message, what 
could he have said more perfect, more poignant, than 
“ Come back,—I love you.” 

How it was done, she didn’t know,—but her 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


309 


heart claimed the message, even though her mind 
refused to belieye it was from Valentine Loft. 

Though tempted to tell Mary about it, she 
couldn’t bring herself to do so, but she contin¬ 
ued to haunt the radio at every number of its 
programmes. 

“ Well, for any one who scorned that thing, 
you’ve certainly become addicted to it,” Mary said, 
as Pauline refused to leave the instrument to go for 
a short drive. 

“ I’ve learned to like it,” Pauline said, and waved 
Mary to silence. 

Yet only once again did she get anything from it 
that might have been meant for her. 

It was twilight, their early supper was over, for 
Pauline had insisted that Mary retain her simple 
ways of living, and though her hostess called to her 
from the veranda, Pauline replied that she would 
come out as soon as she had heard the even¬ 
ing concert. 

And after two or three uninteresting numbers, 
a fairly good baritone voice sang a ballad with a sim¬ 
ple air, the refrain of which was: “ There’s a Valen¬ 
tine a waiting for Pauline.” 


310 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


No mistake this time! Pauline’s eyes filled 
with tears and her heart beat fast as she listened 
to words, homely, but loving and sincere,—each 
stanza closing with the refrain, “ There’s a Valentine 
a waiting for Pauline.” 

Not Pearline this time,—but Pauline, her own 
name, and Valentine, her waiting lover. 

Now, she knew it was intentional, now she knew 
it was meant for her, and she believed the refer¬ 
ences to Portuguese and to Pearline were also meant 
for her. 

How it had been done she didn’t know,—but, she 
assumed Valentine had somehow managed to get 
in on the radio programmes. 

What should she do? She couldn’t doubt that it 
was his method of trying to find her. She couldn’t 
doubt that it was his wish that she should return to 
him, and that he still wanted and loved her. 

She went out to the porch and told Mary Malden 
all about it. 

“ H’m,” said that astute individual. “ Tricky, 
if you ask me. And I don’t believe your Val did it 
at all,—I believe it’s the work of those smarty 
detectives,—they’re trying to find you, and they are 
tricking you with that stuff. For, Valentine Loft 
couldn’t get those things into a radio programme 


CURRAN’S CRUELTY 


311 


himself,—they won’t touch anything personal. But 
the police could do it, of course.” 

Pauline was crestfallen. Suppose it should be 
the police, pretending to send a message from Val, 
so that she would by chance hear it, and divulge her 
hiding place! 

The more she thought it over, the more it seemed 
that Mary must be right, and she would better 
not follow it up at all. 

But after she went to bed that night, she lay 
long awake thinking. And the more she thought 
the more she felt she must speak to Val, let the 
result be what it might. 

Hastily donning kimono and slippers, she went 
noiselessly downstairs to the telephone. She called 
up Long Distance, and finally succeeeded in getting 
connection with Valhalla. The servant who an¬ 
swered her, went immediately to call Loft. 

“ Is that you, Val?” she said, timidly. 

“ Yes, Pauline, darling. I am coming to you. 
Where are you? ” 

Now that she had succeeeded, she was panic- 
stricken, but his dear voice reassured her, and she 
whispered Mary Malden’s name before the receiver 
fell from her trembling fingers. 


CHAPTER XVII 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 

It was shortly before midnight that Valentine 
Loft received that telephone message. The rest of 
the household had retired, and Loft was himself 
preparing for bed. 

“ Mary Malden,” he said to himself, as he hung 
up the receiver. “ I might have guessed it! Just 
the place for her, too. Now, let’s see—” He 
looked at his watch. “ Just about about twelve. I 
suppose I ought to tell Stone I’m going,—but I hate 
to waken him. Poor chap, he’s been working hard 
today. Fibsy,—that’s the ticket! He won’t mind.” 

Going noiselessly through the halls, Loft tapped 
lightly at Fibsy’s door. There was no response, 
but he could hear the boy’s breathing. 

“ Sleeps like a log,—or a boy,” he smiled to 
himself. Then he opened the door and went in. 

“ McGuire,” he whispered, touching the lad on 
the shoulder. 

“What’s up? ” and Fibsy was awake and alert 

312 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 313 

in an instant. “ Oh, Mr. Loft, have you got her? 
Have you? ” 

“ Why, yes,” and Loft was mystified at the ques¬ 
tion. “ What do you know about it? ” 

“Why, I did it! I worked the radio people,— 
not the managers,—they didn’t know about it,—” 

“ Why, you blessed little chap! Have you really 
put over something like that! Well, tell me about 
it some other time,—just now I want to leave a 
message with you for Mr. Stone. I’m going up to 
New England—” 

“ Oh, how are you going? When you coming 
back? ” Fibsy sat upright in bed, his eyes shining, 
his tousled red hair shining, and his very face shin¬ 
ing at the exciting news. 

“ I’m going in my car,—and I hope to be back 
tomorrow afternoon or evening.” 

“ Lemme go with you ? Oh, please, Mr. Loft, 
lemme go! I can be a help to you somehow, 
and I wanta go! Please lemme! I’ve earned it, 
haven’t I ? ” 

“ Why, yes, if you brought this about, you have 
earned it. Come on then, can you dress quickly? ” 

“ Exceedin’ the limit! ” and Fibsy was already 



814 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


out of bed and pulling on his stockings. “ You goin’ 
to drive yourself? ” 

“ Yes; meet me at the garage in about five min¬ 
utes. And say, McGuire, you write a note and stick 
it under Mr. Stone’s door, will you? Tell him 
whatever you like.” 

“ ’Tis the same as done, sir,” and Fibsy began to 
flourish a hairbrush. 

And in less than fifteen minutes the two were 
tearing through the night in the general direction of 
the Berkshire hills. 

“ We needn’t break any speed laws,” Loft said, 
smiling at his own haste. “ I want to get there by 
daybreak, but not sooner. We can’t call on ladies 
before sunup, can we? ” 

“ Where is she? ” Fibsy asked, breathlessly. 

“ At Mapledale, a tiny village in a Berkshire 
valley. How did you work it, boy? That is, if you 
did work it?” 

“ I dunno whether it was my doin’s or not.” In 
his intense excitement Fibsy was lapsing into his 
careless diction, of which Stone daily endeavored to 
cure him. 

“ You see, Mr. Loft, I got around the lecturers 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


315 


and singers in three big broadcasting stations, 
chancin’ that we’d hit Miss Fuller somehow. Course 
the management wouldn’t allow it, for the simple 
reason that if they let us do it, they couldn’t refuse 
anybody who wanted to send a personal message. 
Could they? ” 

“ I suppose not,—go on.” 

“ So I got hold of the performers,—private like, 
—and—well, I used up all your five hundred dol¬ 
lars. But I guess it paid.” 

“ I guess it did,—if that’s what brought this 
trip about.” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” 

“ No, I don’t; Miss Fuller merely spoke to me,— 
and told me where she is staying.” 

“ H’m,—maybe I wasn’t so smart as I thought 
I was. Well, that’s what I came along to see. That, 
and some few other matters. I told Mr. Stone in the 
note not to tell anybody where we’d gone.” 

“ How can he, when he doesn't know himself? ” 

“ I mean, I told him we were on track of Miss 
Fuller, but to keep it dark.” 

“ I see. What sort of wireless messages did you 
send, McGuire? ” 


316 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Well, I worked one into a Kids’ Bedtime Story, 
one into a Domestic Lecture,—on housekeeping and 
the use of Pearline,—” 

“ You rascal, how did you know that I have 
sometimes jokingly called Miss Fuller, Pearline?” 

“ Oh, me little chum, Her Royal Highness the 
Countess, told me that. Well, then I got a chap I 
know to write a song about the 4 Valentine a waitin’ 
for Pauline,’ and oh, I did up some several more 
such stunts. It was one chance in five million that 
any of ’em would reach her ears,—oh, Mr. Loft. I 
hope they did! I hope this whole trip is on account 
o’ me! I put ’em on the Springfield Broadcasting 
Station, and on Schenectady and on Newark. How- 
sumever, if she’d a called anyway,—why I’m just as 
glad for you.” 

Loft smiled at the workings of the young mind 
that wanted the glory and honor if they were due 
him,—but if not, he was still ready to rejoice with 
those that did rejoice. 

“ You’re sure she’s where you’re goin’, ain’t you, 
Mr. Loft?” 

“ I am sure, McGuire. I knew her voice, and I 
heard what she said. Yes, we’ll find her, all right.” 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


317 


They sped on in silence, now and then broken 
by a few words, but each busy with his own thoughts. 

Loft put determinedly from his mind all ques¬ 
tion of Pauline’s conduct, past, present or future; he 
thought only of the fact that he was to see her, 
and soon. 

At last the electric lights began to pale as the 
first gleams of dawn shone in the East. They were 
skimming through beautiful country, the Berkshire 
hills rose about them, the valleys became visible more 
and more plainly, and when the sun was fairly above 
the horizon, the travellers were nearing the village 
of Mapledale. 

“ It’s on the outskirts, I think, or even farther 
out in the country—” 

But farmers were up betimes, and directions 
were easily procured, so that Loft’s swift roadster 
came to a halt at Miss Malden’s side veranda, just 
as that lady herself opened her sitting-room door. 

“ My land! ” she exclaimed, “ what in the world 
do you want?” “Pauline,” answered Loft, briefly 
but very truthfully. 

“ Why, she ain’t up yet. You’re Valentine Loft, 
I suppose? ” 


318 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

“ Yes, and very much at your service. This is 
my young friend, Terence McGuire. Can you take 
us in and give us breakfast,—it is Miss Malden, 
isn’t it?” 

“ Yes,” said Mary Malden, melting before the 
magnetism of Loft’s voice and manner. “ Come 
right along in. Joe, he’ll put your car away for you. 
A fine car, I should say.” 

“ A fast car,” Loft said, smiling. “ Brought us 
up from Westchester County since midnight.” 

“You don’t say! Well, that beats mine. Come 
on in. My, but Pauline will be surprised! ” 

“ Will you call her,—waken her, if necessary. 
I don’t feel as if I could wait—” 

He broke off, smiling, and Mary Malden, after 
giving him a long look, said, “ You’re all right,— 
yes, I’ll call her. You two can come along into this 
downstairs bedroom and wash up.” 

She showed them into the small, clean chamber, 
and went up to Pauline. 

Good Mary Malden felt a slight misgiving as to 
how her guest would stand the shock of such sudden 
happiness, and she went softly into the room where 
Pauline lay. It was on the other side of the house 
and the car’s arrival had not wakened her. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


319 


But at Mary’s gentle touch she sat up quickly. 
“ What is it, Mary? Something especial, I know, or 
you wouldn’t wake me ? Is it the telephone ? ” 

“ No, Pauline, dear,—it’s—” 

“ I know ! It’s Val, himself ! Oh, Mary! ” and 
Pauline tossed aside the coverlets and sprang to the 
floor. “ How did he get here? Oh, Mary! ” 

Mary Malden tried to help Pauline dress, but 
her fingers were slow and awkward compared to 
Pauline’s flying gestures. 

In less time than ever before, Pauline made a 
toilette that lacked no grace or charm because of its 
hasty completion. 

Then she ran downstairs, and in a moment she 
was in the arms of Valentine Loft. 

“ Pauly! Pauly! ” was all he could find to say, 
and Pauline said even less. 

Miss Malden discreetly retired to the kitchen, 
to order extra breakfast, but Fibsy, unabashed in the 
presence of this unembarrassed demonstration, stood 
looking at the pair. 

Nor did they mind at all. 

“ Well, Terence,” Loft said, after a moment, 
“ this is Miss Fuller. Pauline, Mr. McGuire.” 


320 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Aw, I’m just Fibsy,” the boy said, abashed 
now that attention was drawn to himself. “ But, I 
say, Mr. Loft, I’m glad you’ve got her! ” 

“ So am I,” and Loft kissed Pauline again. 
“ Now tell us, Pauly,” he said, “ did you get any 
radio message?—young McGuire, here, will burst if 
he doesn’t find that out soon.” 

“Yes, I did,—and, Val,—that’s why I 

telephoned.” 

“ Oh, bless the Lord! ” cried Fibsy, piously. “ It 
worked, it worked! Shades of Vidocq and Lecoq, 
am I the little wizard,—or ain’t I ? ” 

“ You certainly are, Fibs,” and Loft was as 
astonished and as grateful as even the boy 
could wish. 

Mary Malden came in to hear about it, and as 
they sat down to her excellent breakfast they went 
over Fibsy’s clever and successful plan in all 
its details. 

“ But,” and Loft looked at Pauline reproachfully, 
“ you ought to have called me without that.” 

After breakfast the pair were left alone, and 
then, for the first time a sudden constraint fell 
on them. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


321 


Pauline, all at once became aware of the wrong 
and injustice that she had done this man, and almost 
began to doubt his forgiveness. 

“ Don’t, dear heart,” he said, reading her 
thoughts, “ don’t feel that way about it. I under¬ 
stand,—see, I understand perfectly why you had to 
—yes, you just had to, keep your poor little secret 
from me. I was a brute to denounce divorce so em¬ 
phatically as I did, but since I did, of course you 
couldn’t tell me your own history. Now, forget it, 
darling, once and for all. It’s past history; your life 
with Curran—Dwyer, is a sealed book,—more, a 
destroyed book. We need never mention it again,— 
though should the subject come up, it is not taboo,— 
we are not afraid of it! It is just a negligible mat¬ 
ter, that’s all. Now, Pauline,—did you kill Curran? ” 

“ No, Valentine,” and Pauline’s gaze met his 
own, truthfully and fearlessly. 

“ I knew it, dear, of course, but I had to have 
your word. Then will you go back home with me 
and face the music?” 

“ Of course I will.” 

“ But it isn’t pleasant music. Many people think 


21 


322 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


you did kill him,—and the reason I want you to 
go there, is to prove your innocence.” 

“ Can we?” 

“ I’m hoping Stone can do it. He’s exceedingly 
clever,—and I think he has a few cards up his sleeve 
he hasn’t played yet.” 

“ Who do you think did it, Val? ” 

“ I haven’t the least idea. I can’t see any way 
it could have been done, nor any way anybody could 
have done it.” 

“ Then we must just tell the truth, and do the 
best we can. I suppose everybody knows about— 
about me ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, everybody does. But there will be 
no unpleasantness that I can shield you from. 
Pauline,—dear, will you do this? Will you marry 
me before we go back? ” 

Pauline hesitated only an instant, then, looking 
deep into Loft’s eyes, she put her hands in his and 
whispered, “ Yes, I will.” 

“ Hooray!” Loft cried, in such a gay, boyish 
tone that Miss Malden came running in. 

“ What are you two grinning at? ” she asked. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


323 


“ We’re going to be married in a few minutes,” 
Loft replied, kissing her in the exuberance of 
his happiness. 

“My good land!” exclaimed the spinster, 
equally flustered by the news and the salute. 
“ Where? Here?” 

“ Of course,” Pauline said, radiant with smiles. 
“Help us out, won’t you, Mary? Can you get 
a minister? ” 

“ I can,” and Fibsy’s red head poked itself in at 
the door. “ I saw a dominie’s sign on a church as 
we came through the village. Dr. Messiter, is he 
the one you want, Miss Malden? ” 

“ My gracious, I don’t know! Yes, I suppose so. 
He’s my own pastor. Yes, of course; can you 
drive a car, boy? ” 

“ Yep, of course. Shall I take yours, Mr. Loft ?” 
“No! you young rascal, you’d break every bone 
in its body. Take Miss Malden’s Ford-Royce! ” 
“And do I stop at the caterer’s?” Fibsy sug¬ 
gested, his eyes dancing. 

“ Yes,—here, take Matilda along with you, she’ll 

know what to get.” 


324 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Oh, come now,” Miss Malden,” Loft put in, 
“ this isn’t a wedding, you know,—just a marriage. 
We want to get back home by noon.” 

“ What’s your hurry? ” 

“ The matter is serious, Miss Malden. I want 
to marry Pauline, of course, but I want to marry 
her thus quickly, so I can protect her from all sorts 
of troubles she is up against. Get your minister, 
get some ice cream,—if that’s what Terence wants, 
—he deserves it,—but don’t delay us for any fol-de- 
rols. Am I right, Pauline? ” 

“ Yes, Val. It is a serious matter to us all. 
Shall I go and dress ? ” 

“Yes, dear, run along.” 

Loft’s voice was infinitely gentle, and Pauline’s 
eyes filled with tears as she went to dress for her 
second wedding ceremony. 

Mary came to help her and it was in silence that 
they chose one of the few simple frocks Pauline had 
obtained during her stay with her friend. There 
was a white Canton crepe which they agreed upon, 
and in less than half an hour, the bride was ready, 
and almost at the same moment Fibsy arrived 
with the clergyman, and a consignment from 
the confectioner’s. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


325 


And then in the presence only of Mary Malden 
and Terence McGuire the pair were united and the 
benediction pronounced on their bowed heads. 

The feast was done justice to by Fibsy and the 
minister, but the other members of the wedding 
party could not partake. 

Pauline was nervous, but Loft was strong and 
firm enough for both of them. 

“ I can conquer anything now/’ he said exult¬ 
antly, “ since I have you for my very own,” and 
cutting short the loving farewells between his wife 
and her dear friend, he tucked her into the car 
beside him, leaving the small rear seat for Fibsy. 

Off they went, the cook Matilda appearing from 
the kitchen to throw some rice after them, and Miss 
Malden and the clergyman sat down to talk it over. 

Meanwhile Loft’s car flew back over the road to 
Valhalla. They did not go so fast but that they 
could enjoy the delightful ride and the still greater 
delight of each other’s company. And Fibsy, like a 
veritable God of the Machine, sat up behind and 
blessed his lucky star that he had done something 
that would please F. Stone. 

As they drove up to the house at last, Fibsy, 


326 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


jumping out of the car, was caught by Stone, who 
carried him off for a quick confab. 

“ Never mind, McGuire,” Stone said, as the 
boy began a tale of the radio, “ it was fine,—but 
now you're to fly to New York like a bandersnatch. 
There's a car waiting to take you,—go first to Hugh 
Curran’s rooms at the hotel, here's the address, on 
this paper, and get from his shelves the book noted 
here. Then hurry around to the auction rooms,— 
see, the address, and bid up on this item marked in 
this catalogue.” 

“ Yes, sir,” and Fibsy choked back his disap¬ 
pointment at not telling of his triumph, while he 
listened carefully to Stone’s directions. 

“ Don’t bid yourself, but get some attendant 
there to bid for you. If you can’t get the item for 
two hundred dollars, give it up, but go as high as 
that. Here’s the money. Keep yourself out of sight, 
but notice who is bidding against you, and if it’s 
some agent, find out, adroitly, who is his principal. 
Got it all?” 

“ Yes, sir,— Good-by. Back here?” 

“ Yes, as soon as possible. Keep the Loft car 
and come back in it. The chauffeur is at your orders. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 327 

Don’t muff anything, McGuire, much depends 
on you.” 

Fibsy touched his cap, and ran. He knew when 
Stone called him McGuire, it was because he was 
putting real responsibilities on him, and he was more 
than willing to do his best. 

Once in the car, and the chauffeur speeding to¬ 
ward the city, Fibsy had opportunity to look over 
the memoranda Stone had given him, and which was 
clear though concise. The matter mastered, he gave 
himself up to the happy reflections on his good work 
with the radio; and on the loveliness of the lady 
for whom he had done it, even before he had seen 
her at all. He greatly admired Loft, and now, 
more than ever, since he had seen him rush a 
wedding through in less than an hour! 

“ Going some! ” Fibsy decided, and then he 
curled up for a nap en route. 

In New York he did all Stone had instructed him. 
He went to the hotel, got the desired book,—a queer 
looking old thing he thought it, too, though in a 
most new, shiny and elaborate case, and then he 
went to the auction rooms. 

Fibsy had never seen a book auction before, but 


328 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


he was quick to apprehend conditions, and soon 
found an agent to bid for him. The item he was 
after would not be put up for half an hour or so, 
and Fibsy, remembering Stone’s caution to keep 
out of sight, found a seat behind some long 
window draperies. 

However, he saw no one he knew, except Bob 
Baldwin, who he supposed went to all book auctions. 

“ Funny business, dealing in old ragged books,” 
he thought, but as he watched the proceedings he 
soon learned that wiser heads than his set great 
value on the antique volumes. 

At last the item he was interested in went up 
at sale. 

To his surprise it was only one page of a book! 
What in the world could any one want of one page! 
But the bidding was brisk, and soon the hundred- 
dollar mark was passed. 

Fibsy’s agent kept on, and as the bids became 
higher, more bidders dropped out. At last the agent 
kept on against one other only, and finally as two 
hundred was overbid, Fibsy’s agent ceased, and the 
page went to the other bidder. 

“Who’s it gone to? ” Fibsy asked of his man, 
as he returned the money Fibsy had advanced. 


ON TO MAPLEDALE 


329 


“To Mr. Baldwin,—he’s a swell dealer,—doesn’t 
even call himself a dealer,—a commission buyer. 
He would have gone on forever, I guess. Probably 
had an unlimited bid for somebody.” 

“ Prob’ly,” agreed Fibsy, for Stone had told 
him not to chatter. 

Into the car and home to the Loft place the boy 
went next, taking care not to be seen by Baldwin, 
who left the auction room just ahead of him. 

On the way home, Fibsy mused over the strange 
vagaries of this game of book collecting, and deter¬ 
mined to study up the matter. He didn’t like to be 
so utterly ignorant of anything that might mean 
so much. 

He went at once to Stone with his report and 
received that gentleman’s unstinted praises for the 
work in New York, and also for the ingenious radio 
stunt he had pulled off. 

Fibsy blushed with pleasure at receiving the high¬ 
est compliments Fleming Stone had ever yet 
paid him. 

“ Aw, shucks,” he said, greatly embarrassed, “ it 
wasn’t anything of a trick. I just happened to pull 
it off. Now, F. Stone, where do we stand? ” 

Stone looked grave. 


330 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ The case is about finished,” he said slowly. 
“ I’m sorry at the results, but we must take 
what comes.” 

“ You know who killed Mr. Curran? ” 

“ Yes, Fibs.” 

“ You know how and why? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When do I get it? ” 

“ After dinner to-night, in the library, I shall 
have to tell all.” 

“ I’ll be there,” said Terence McGuire. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 

Dinner at Valhalla that night partook of the 
nature of a wedding feast. 

Pauline, now that there was no longer any secret 
about her past, blossomed into a happy bride, and 
except for the cloud of tragedy that still hung over 
the household, all was serene and almost jubilant. 

Loft was unable to contain his joy, and almost 
forgot the Curran affair in his new-found happiness. 

But not every one was so sure of Pauline’s inno¬ 
cence as was her new-made husband and her inti¬ 
mate friends. 

In fact, Kinney had sent a message that he must 
have an interview with her that evening, and Stone, 
to whom the matter was referred, sent back a mes¬ 
sage for Kinney to come to the house at nine o’clock. 

Hetty Dwyer was frantic. 

Knowing all she now knew, she was positive 

Pauline had killed her brother and even went so far 

as to hint that it was because the divorce was not 

331 


332 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

absolute, and that he was an obstacle in the way of 
Pauline’s marriage to Loft. 

“ What have you done, Mr. Stone? ” she burst 
out during the dinner hour. “ What have you accom¬ 
plished? Have you established Miss Fuller’s inno¬ 
cence,—or Mr. Loft’s? For my part I could easily 
believe that he killed my brother on Miss Fuller’s 
behalf! So far as I can see, you have sat around 
here for four or five days and have done nothing— 
nothing at all! You have refused to cooperate with 
the police, yet you have done nothing by yourself to 
solve the mystery. You accept the story Miss Fuller 
tells, you look no further, but, influenced by her 
feminine charm, you believe her unsupported word. 
Myself, I know her of old,—I know—” 

“ There, there, Miss Dwyer,” Stone said, gently, 
“ don’t fling questions at me so rapidly. Nobody 
could answer that rapid-fire list,—I doubt if you 
remember them yourself. And, too, I submit that 
I have made some progress in this matter. But I 
don’t think the subject a good one for dinner-table 
conversation, and I will ask you to wait until we can 
all adjourn to the library. Then I have a few state¬ 
ments to make.” 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


333 


“ Fm glad to hear that,” the Countess exclaimed. 
“ I confess that Fm growing impatient. It’s de¬ 
lightful to have Pauline and Val married, but I shall 
feel more quiet in my mind when this other matter 
is settled. As a matter of fact, I want to get away, 
but I won’t go, until I learn the results of Mr. Stone’s 
investigation of this case.” 

“We want to go, too,” Anna said; “and Ned 
won’t stir a step until the whole thing is settled.” 

“I can’t desert the ship,” Knox put in. “Val 
and Angel and Roly and I are a sort of committee 
to look into this horrid affair, and Fm sure not one 
of us will leave until we know the truth. I admit 
we have none of us done much to help the investi¬ 
gation, but that isn’t because we haven’t tried.” 

“ And, too, it isn’t necessary for us to do any¬ 
thing now that Mr. Stone is on the job,” said Angel, 
looking at the detective. “ But I shall be glad to get 
away soon, for the book auction sales are beginning 
and Fve some special orders on hand.” 

“ You can run back and forth in the cars, when¬ 
ever you like, Bob,” Loft said. “ Just give your 
own orders.” 

“ Thank you, Val, but I ought to be back in 
town soon.” 


334 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ As far as the discovery of the facts regarding 
the death of Mr. Curran is concerned, I can tell 
you that this evening,” Stone said, as Pauline rose 
from the table. 

She had taken her place as mistress of Valhalla 
easily and naturally. Secure in her own knowledge 
of her innocence, sure that none of her real friends 
suspected her, she also felt confidence that Fleming 
Stone would prove her case to the local police,— 
and then, she hoped, she and Loft could go away 
for a honeymoon. 

But a little later, when the party had gathered in 
the library, and when Detective Kinney arrived, 
Pauline saw from his unfriendly glances that the 
local police still deemed her guilty,—or, at least, 
implicated in the tragic death of Hugh Curran. 

“ To begin with,” Stone said, “ you remember 
that there was a discussion as to the preferable 
method of killing a man.” 

“ Oh, don’t rake that up again,” Ned Knox 
almost groaned. “ I’m positive that none of us who 
took part in that fool discussion ever carried out any 
such a plan.” 

“ You may be sure of that,—but I’m not,” Stone 
said, and he looked at Knox so earnestly, that Roly 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 335 

Mears concluded at once that Ned was the murderer 
after all! 

“ But, leaving that for the moment,” Stone went 
on, “ I will tell you first, what I discovered from an 
examination of Mr. Curran’s body. Although the 
doctors made a careful autopsy, they didn’t chance 
to discover what I found,—by looking for it. That 
is a small puncture in the jaw of-the dead man, 
through which, there can be no doubt, the poison 
was introduced into his system.” 

“ The hypodermic needle! ” cried Roly Mears, 
quickly. 

“ I haven’t said so,” Stone returned, “ but I do 
say that ‘ the needle ’ figured prominently among 
the clues I have worked from.” 

“ What needle? ” Angel asked, interestedly. 

“ Oh, an old needle—” Stone began, “ that—” 

“ Oh,” Roly exclaimed, “ an old rusty needle! 
Blood poisoning! ” 

“ Suppose you let Mr. Stone do the talking,” 
Kinney growled out; “ we are more interested in 
his recital, Mr. Mears, than in your comments.” 

Before Roly could resent this speech, Stone 
resumed. 


336 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“ Without further delay,” he said, “ I will tell 
you what I at first assumed. If I wrongly suspected 
an innocent man, wait, at least, until you hear the 
whole story.” 

“ Miss Fuller,—I beg your pardon,—Mrs. Loft, 
will you answer a few questions? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Pauline, a little agitated, but 
reassured by Loft’s clasp of her hand. 

“ Then you are willing to state that you visited 
Mr. Curran,—whom you knew as Mr. Dwyer, in his 
room that night?” 

“ I did.” 

“ As late as two o’clock, or after? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“For what purpose? ” 

“To ask him to stop persecuting me, and to 
obtain from him my picture which he had in his 
watch-case.” 

“ And his attitude? ” 

Pauline hesitated, then said, bravely, “ He was, 
he stated, still fond of me, and asked me to remarry 
him. When I refused, he became sarcastic and even 
brutally rude. I knew from something he had said, 
that he had some letters of mine with him,—I knew 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


337 


that he probably had hidden them in a drawer be¬ 
neath his handkerchiefs,—for—I knew his ways. 
I found the letters, and I took them, also I took his 
watch, which then lay on the table between us, and 
I ran away to my own room.” 

“ Leaving Mr. Curran alive and well ? ” 

“ Perfectly so. He was laughing at my dis¬ 
comfiture as I closed the door behind me. He chose 
to treat the whole matter lightly,—though to me it 
was even then a tragedy.” 

“ Yes; now, think carefully, Mrs. Loft. Did you 
chance to see on the table, or anywhere, a toothpick 
sealed in a printed paper? ” 

“ Yes, there was one there,—a Country Club one. 
I paid no attention to it, but I do remember that it 
was there. Why?” 

u I will tell you in a moment. Remember it well, 
—it may prove to be an alibi. However, you have 
an alibi aside from that. The doctors are agreed 
that Mr. Curran died not earlier than four o’clock 
in the morning. Therefore, he was alive at least 
an hour and a half after your departure from his 
room. Mr. Meredith fixed that time at two-thirty, 

and you say that yourself. Now, if Mr. Curran was 
22 


338 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


killed by the poison at four o’clock, who could have 
done it ? Also, how did the murderer make 
his exit? ” 

“ May I call your attention to the fact, Mr. 
Stone,” said Kinney, ponderously, “ that those are 
the questions that have confronted us from 
the beginning.” 

“ Yes, but I have learned the answers to them, 
Mr. Kinney.” 

“ Indeed,—and how did the murderer get in? ” 

“ Mr. Curran let him in.” 

“ And how did he leave the room? ” 

“ Mr. Curran let him out.” 

“ You are pleased to be mysterious.” 

“ Not at all. The murderer did not do his 
killing while he was in the room.” 

“ Then Mr. Curran killed himself?” 

“ No, I do not put it that way. But I will tell 
you my discovery. The puncture in Mr. Curran’s 
jaw, which I discovered, is inside the mouth, and 
against a molar tooth. Can you wonder, that I 
deduced a poisoned toothpick? At any rate I did 
conclude that the instrument of death, for I could 
find no other. I pictured Mr. Curran, after Miss 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


339 


Fuller’s departure, sitting down to think matters 
over, perhaps eating a few of the nuts of which 
he was fond, and then, naturally, using the tooth¬ 
pick,—which, let us say, had been previously dipped 
in hydrocyanic acid.” 

“ Could such a case be possible? ” asked Kinney. 

“ Yes,” Stone replied, “ I have consulted with 
expert chemists who assure me it is entirely 
possible.” 

“ You’re making it sound like my work,” Angel 
said, with a rueful glance at Stone. “ But I plead 
not guilty.” 

“ And wisely,” Stone returned. “ Indeed, the 
first thing I did after these discoveries was to exam¬ 
ine the quill toothpick which I found in the waste¬ 
basket. It was absolutely free from any trace 
of poison.” 

“Then who did it?” Bob asked, his handsome 
face eagerly inquisitive. 

“That’s what I wondered,” Stone said; “for 
I was so sure I had struck the right trail. Of 
course, I knew that Mr. Baldwin had given Curran 
that Club toothpick, and it seemed a clever deduc¬ 
tion. But that clue failed. So then I began to 
hunt a motive. And the motive I found.” 


340 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


“The motive!” cried Miss Dwyer; “then you 
can tell who killed my brother. Tell us quickly, 
Mr. Stone.” 

“ As quickly as possible. But the truth is so 
strange, the evidence so slight, the clues so hazy 
that though I am convinced myself, I cannot con¬ 
vince you unless you listen attentively and follow 
closely my arguments. I am sure, now, that the 
man who killed Mr. Curran was actuated by some 
circumstance connected with Mr. Curran’s collec¬ 
tion of books.” 

“That interests me,” Angel said; “Eve rather 
suspected that all along.” 

“ Yes,” Stone proceeded. “ Now, the night of 
his death, Mr. Curran was deeply interested in 
some items in certain catalogues.” 

“ He was,” Angel nodded. “ He discussed 
them with me.” 

“ One catalogue in particular, Mr. Curran pos¬ 
sessed, was not found in his room, afterward.” 

“How do you know?” Kinney asked. 

“ Because it was the catalogue that contained 
4 The Needle.’ ” 

“ ‘ The Needle!’” Knox cried; “was that a 
book, then?” 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


341 


“Yes; any great collector would know at 
once, that it means a very old and rare book, called 
‘ Gammer Gurton’s Needle ’—a volume dated 1575 .” 

“ My brother had that book in his library,” said 
Miss Dwyer, proudly. “ I remember it well.” 

“ So does Mr. Baldwin, no doubt,” Stone said; 
“ in fact, Mr. Baldwin bought it for him.” 

“ I did,” said Angel, “ and I had a high old 
time to find a copy.” 

“Yes; now, in this catalogue I speak of there 
was not a copy of this book for sale, but there was 
a single page of it. As some of you may not know, 
book collectors pay good prices for even one leaf 
of a very rare book.” 

Fibsy sat on the edge of his chair, enthralled 
by the conversation. Well he knew, after his 
afternoon’s experience, how collectors bid up on 
the single leaf of a rare book! 

“ Well,” Stone proceeded, “ as is generally 
known, there are unscrupulous book dealers as well 
as dealers in other wares. Now, a favorite scheme 
of theirs is to utilize in various ways these 
single leaves.” 

“Aside from selling them as fragments? ” Loft 
inquired. 


342 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


, “ Oh, yes. They are really ingenious about it. 

Take this ‘ Gammer Gurton’s Needle,’ for instance. 
It was published in London by Thomas Colwell, in 
1575. Now, you can easily see, that the title page 
of such a book would be its chief requisite. The 
title page missing, the volume would be worth little 
in comparison with a perfect copy. So, the clever 
book dealer, substitutes another title page, and so 
produces what is apparently a complete copy.” 

“ Where does he get the other title page? ” 
asked Baldwin, his supercilious air denoting his 
superior knowledge of these matters. 

“ That’s the ingenious part of it. He photo¬ 
graphs the real one.” 

“ I’ve heard of it,” Bob said, “ but I doubt if 
it can be done successfully. I know about these 
things, you see.” 

“ It might not be done in a manner to deceive 
you, Mr. Baldwin, or any one who is a real con¬ 
noisseur,—but it could easily fool the average 
reader,—even the average collector.” 

“ My brother’s copy is perfect,” Miss Dwyer 
informed them. “ I have heard him say so,—and it 
has been pronounced upon by experts.” 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


343 


“ Doubtless,” agreed Stone. “ Yet, here is what 
happened. Mr. Curran had a catalogue of an auc¬ 
tion sale, that listed a page of this old book. Where¬ 
upon, he went to his own copy and on examination 
found that several pages of his book had been ex¬ 
tracted and photographed pages had been put in their 
places. This must have been done, Miss Dwyer, 
since the expert you spoke of examined the book. 

“ However, it had been done, and naturally, 
Mr. Curran was greatly astounded and that was the 
matter of ‘ The Needle ’ he was discussing with 
Mr. Baldwin.” 

“ Yes,” and Bob nodded his head, gravely. “ I 
hoped to keep the matter quiet, until I could dis¬ 
cover who did it. But since you know of it, I will 
ask you to consider it confidential. I secured one 
of the missing pages at a sale this afternoon,—and 
I hope to get the others. I told Mr. Curran I hoped 
to do this, and he was greatly pleased.” 

“ Yes,” Stone said; “now, you can all see, why 
I suspect that some one implicated in this theft is 
the man who put Mr. Curran out of the way. 
And, returning for a moment, to the matter of the 
toothpick, may I inquire if any one noticed a tooth- 


344 


FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 


pick on the floor the morning the body was found.” 

“ Yes, there was one,” Knox said, thinking 
back. “ Don’t you remember, Angel, you found it 
on the floor—” 

“ And threw it in the waste-basket,” supple¬ 
mented Roly. 

“Threw another one in!” cried Stone, 
triumphantly. “ Mr. Baldwin is the clever crimi¬ 
nal, he is the ingenious book thief,—it was he who 
provided the poisoned toothpick, and after it had 
done its work, he adroitly substituted a clean one 
for the other and placed it in Curran’s waste-basket.” 

“ Pretty work, Mr. Stone,” Baldwin said, “ but 
not very convincing. I can see how you can per¬ 
haps think that is all so, but I defy you to prove it.” 

“ Proof isn’t necessary, for you are going to 
confess,” Stone said, coolly. “ However, I will 
say, that here is the paper that contained the tooth¬ 
pick in question. A mere glance will show you all 
that it has been unsealed and sealed up again. This, 
of course, after the poisoned quill was put into it. 

“ Also, I have the book of Mr. Curran’s that 
shows not only the photographed page in the middle 
of the book, but also photographed title page and 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 


345 


the three back pages. You see, Mr. Baldwin bor¬ 
rowed this book from Mr. Curran a few months 
ago. He photographed the pages, and put them 
in the Curran copy, using the real ones to complete 
a deficient copy that he had been able to buy for a 
small price. This now perfect copy, he sold for 
twenty thousand dollars. The sale is on record.” 

“ The jig is up! ” Angel Baldwin said, but his 
face paled. Clearly his jaunty air was hard to 
retain. “ How did you catch on, Mr. Stone?” 

“ Curran revealed it himself. He knew of your 
dishonesty. He said, you all remember, ‘ Mr. S.\ 
and asked if that meant anything to anybody. It 
showed Mr. Baldwin that Curran knew all, and 
meant to follow it up.” 

“ What had Mr. S. to do with the book ? ” 
Knox inquired. 

“ The title page of that old volume reads, 
* Gammer Gurton’s Needle, a right, pithy comedy, 
by Mr. S.’ So, Curran’s quick wit chose that way 
of revealing his knowledge of the theft of 
the pages.” 

“ That’s right,” Bob said, “ it’s all true. The 
man was ingenious, and so was I. You see, he 


346 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

knew not only of the ‘ Needle ’ pages, but some few 
other similar bits of work Eve put over. It doesn't 
hurt the collectors. If they don’t know it,—and 
they rarely do, the books are just as good for them. 
And Curran brought it on himself. He threatened 
to expose me, wouldn’t listen to my plea to hush 
it up if I made good to him. So,—when he wanted 
a toothpick,—I conjured up that scheme,—and it 
worked. Then I thought if I substituted a clean 
toothpick that next morning, it would all blow 
over. Of course, I should have confessed if Pauly 
had not been cleared. But after she was free from 
suspicion I thought I could brazen it out. But 
F. Stone is too many for me. Well, life’s a gamble, 
and I’ve lost.” 

And then, though Stone was alertly watching for 
that very thing, Bob popped something into his 
mouth and swallowed it. 

“ I feared it,” Stone said, springing to his side. 
“ I watched him—but he fooled me. Perhaps it’s 
just as well.” 

Perhaps it was. No one wanted to see poor old 
Angel stand trial whatever the outcome might have 


THE TRUTH AT LAST 347 

been. And there was hope for nothing but the 
extreme penalty. 

“ Who’d ever think it of Bob?” Knox ex¬ 
claimed, as, the women having been put out of the 
room, the men clustered round the still figure. 

“ Yet, in a way, it was like him,” Loft said, 
musingly. “ He always wanted something for noth¬ 
ing,—to get money without doing work. And he 
thought himself so secure in this nefarious business 
of his, that to find Curran ready to expose him was 
more than he could stand. And his quick, clever 
brain seized on that toothpick idea at once. Of 
course, he had the poison stuff in his photo¬ 
graphic outfit.” 

“You get out of here, Valentine,” Knox said; 
“ we’ll look after all the necessary details. You go 
and pick up Pauline and I’ll call your car, and you 
two fly down to New York and begin your honey¬ 
moon. Skittle, now! ” 

Loft hesitated a moment, but the thought of 
Pauline decided him. “ I will, Ned, you’re a brick,” 
and Loft went off at once. 

“ Come, Pauly,” he said, as he returned to her 


348 FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

in the drawing room, “ we’re going to hook jack! 
Get your wraps.” 

“ I believe I promised to obey,” said Pauline, 
smiling through tears. “ Will you look after the 
house, Countess? ” 

“ Yes, of course,” and getting the drift of things, 
the Countess and Anna hurried off with Pauline to 
throw some things in a suit-case for her. 

And in less than a half hour the bride and groom 
started on their wedding journey, the rest of the 
household went to their rooms and Detective Kinney 
took charge of all that was left of the gay, careless, 
and irresponsible Angel Bob Baldwin, while he 
mused on the cleverness of the great detective who 
had deduced the truth from the “ feathers 
left around.” 


THE END 



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